For King and Country: Book 2  The Enemy Within
by Rogue Trooper 2.0
Summary: With her mission to bring Fordring's messenger to Stormwind complete, Taliah struggles to find her place in the coming conflict while various factions jockey to gain control of the weapon that may decide the outcome of the impeding war in Northrend.
1. Chapter 1

***Begins immediately after '_**King and Country: The Long Road Home'**_ ends, and I highly recommend reading it (yeah I know it's long, sorry) before this, or _**Enemy Within**_ may not make a whole lot of sense. The usual warnings apply – Course language, violence and adult themes, but nothing you won't see on prime-time tv or the canon Warcraft novels. This story is leading to the events of the 'Wrath of the Lich King' expansion however, and it may creep into a 'M' rating. As always, I own nothing, Blizzard Entertainment owns everything, and I'm just playing around in the world they created.*** Oh yeah… please read and review! I can't improve if I don't get feedback!***

**One.**

_The rain came down in sheets as lightning streaked through the sky. In the deluge five riders in plate and mail encircled two others who shivered with cold and exhaustion. The ruddy ground, turned to deep slop by the driving rain, sucked at the horses' hooves as they shifted restlessly in the downpour. The beasts steamed in the cold air, their panted breaths leaving distended nostrils in gouts of thick vapour that looked almost like smoke. _

"_There is nowhere left to run, Harkness." The woman's cold, amused voice sounded almost disembodied through her full helm, the visor down to ward off the weather. Neither young paladin needed to see the woman's face to know who she was. "Give us the girl and I will give you a clean death." _

"_Captain, listen to me!" Taliah pleaded through a cough. She hated Brigitte Abbendis with every fibre of her being, but she had to try and make her see reason. "Saidan Dathrohan may have been human once, but no longer… he is a demon!"_

"_I have seen it with my own eyes!" Joscelin interjected "He has deceived you and he has corrupted the Scarlet Crusade. He will lead you all to ruin!"_

"_Silence!" Abbendis's eyes glowed balefully through the helm's visor. "Cease your slanderous rantings, Harkness. Taliah is still very ill must be returned to Lord Dathrohan's care." Her longsword stabbed at the empty air in Joscelin Harkness' direction "Taliah, he is filling your head with lies." Finally, the woman flipped up her visor to reveal a tired but pretty face. Brigitte smiled and it would have looked kindly and concerned if not for the fact the gesture did not reach her cold dark eyes. "Come home, Taliah. Commander Mograine will take you back, and Lord Dathrohan will forgive you. It's not too late to end this before you get hurt."_

"_I won't go back, Abbendis." Taliah stated flatly and levelled her runeblade at the woman. The sword wavered slightly and Abbendis could hear the air whistling in the girl's throat when she breathed. "Last night, I pledged myself to Joscelin, and our union is consummated before the Light." Taliah's chin came up in defiance. "Renault has no claim to me now. I will not be use by him, or anyone else." _

"_Suit yourself." Abbendis shrugged uncaringly and with a flick of her chin, the woman's visor clanked shut. "Kill the boy. Do whatever you must to subdue the girl." That seemed to be all the urging the other four riders needed as they spurred their mounts forward and the ring around the two young paladins shrank. _

_Three weeks on the run had finally come to what promised to be a bloody end. Taliah touched her blunted spurs to Valiant's sides and the mighty grey stallion surged forward despite his fatigue, striking and pawing at the destrier that charged at him. Her opponent's bay gelding shied as Taliah brought Peacemaker up to parry, and guiding Valiant with her calves, had her mount give the other a brutal shove with his chest. The bay's hooves skidded in the mud and it reared as the grey bored down on him. The man and horse went over backwards in a flail of legs and curses. The beast rolled to its feet with a grunt and galloped off, dragging its rider through the mud as the screaming, injured man desperately tried to kick his twisted foot free of the stirrup. _

_Light, your servant calls for aid! Taliah prayed silently and the Light answered, filling her with renewed strength as another rider came at her and the business end of his sword plunged at her shoulder. The girl jerked away and the blade pierced her cloak as it slid through the empty space between her arm and body. Dropping her reins, Taliah reached back and used her wet woollen cloak to protect her arm as she wrapped it about the blade. The rider saw his peril and tried to turn his mount into hers, but Peacemaker took off his sword-hand at the elbow. Releasing the man's sword, she ignored his screams and the crimson that slashed across her face as his weapon and forearm dropped to the ground._

_Storm snorted and jostled his opponent, and the two chargers snapped at one another fiercely as their riders hacked and slashed at each other. Joscelin had already dropped a rider, beheading the man's mount and causing it to crash down atop him, but Brigitte Abbendis was not so easily thwarted. She was overzealous a sociopath, but she was also cunning and quick. Joscelin, a strapping young man of nineteen, was larger, much more powerful and very handy with a sword, but lacked the other paladin's experience. Harkness could hear the cold smile on her lips when she spoke._

"_Oh Joscelin, you poor, stupid boy. You really do love her, don't you?" She sneered as their blades came together in a shriek of steel and their mounts snorted and heaved beneath them. One deft thrust pierced the left side of his chest, but skipped off a rib, leaving a six-inch gash that bled profusely. "Did you think if you deflowered the girl that Renault would no longer want her? He'll be disappointed I'm sure, but he'll have nearly as much fun breaking her spirit." Abbendis laughed as her longsword thrust at Harkness's throat, forcing him to throw his upper body backwards and unbalancing his mount. While she was armoured, he was not, wearing only layers of roughspun woollens, which afforded him more flexibility. "Does the thought of your precious little Taliah gasping and writhing beneath him-"_

"_Shut your filthy mouth, bitch!" Harkness roared. The young paladin parried and grabbed Brigitte's wrist as she slashed at him. Using weight and power to his advantage, he set his feet in the stirrups and Joscelin yanked with every once of strength he had while Strom turned abruptly to the right. There was a wet snap as the woman's shoulder popped from its joint. Abbendis cried out in pain and her sword-hand went numb._

_The two remaining Crusaders pressed her hard and the shimmering sphere that protected Taliah and her destrier gave way with a swirl of golden mist. Her breaths came in wheezing gasps that left her mouth in a thin trail of white vapour and her parries and counters were growing slow and laboured. Knowing the girl was done, one of the riders broke off when he heard Captain Abbendis cry out in pain. Had she been healthy it would have been a fair fight but as it was, she could hardly breathe. _

"_Don't make me hurt you, Taliah." She recognized the voice of the remaining Crusader, though Jarod Flamelle's face was concealed by his helm. They had been sparring partners occasionally and the two young paladins had been friends until recently, when the growing corruption within the Crusade had begun to cloud Flamelle's sense of right and wrong. _

"_Jarod, listen to me." The girl's chest heaved as she spoke. Taliah could feel the long, ragged claw marks Dathrohan had gifted her with burning and itching beneath her tunic. They still refused to heal, though it had been over a month since she'd attacked him and paid for it, and the raw skin would still occasionally break. "Dathrohan is not what he seems! Can you not sense the darkness in him? Can you not see what he is doing to what little remains of the Silver Hand?"_

"_Taliah, you're ill and feverish. Harkness has been filling your head with lies. Lord Dathrohan is no demon. He only wants what is best for you." Taliah slashed at him, ham-fisted from exhaustion, and Jarod easily turned her aside. "Forgive me, Taliah." With a flick of his wrist he disarmed her, causing Peacemaker to go spinning through the air. Valiant sat on his haunches and spun at Taliah's urging as she attempted to flee, but Flamelle got an arm around her and jerked the girl from her horse. He tossed her before him in the saddle and it dug into the scars on her belly, causing the wounds to reopen and Taliah cried out harshly in pain. Jarod ignored her and jammed his hand between the girl's shoulder blades to keep her from falling. Wheeling his mount, the Crusader looked back at Captain Abbendis as she and the last remaining rider harried the boy mercilessly. "I have her!"_

"_Ride!" Abbendis barked. She had jerked her shoulder back into place, though she now fought with her left hand. "Fall back to Hearthglen. We'll finish off the boy."_

_Taliah knew what fate awaited her back at their destination – she would be sent back to the Monastery where she would, in time, be broken and corrupted as Renault and the rest of Crusade had been. Dathrohan would then use her and the children Renault would sire on her to attempt to destabilize and destroy the last human kingdom of Azeroth. "Joss!" Taliah cried desperately as she thrashed like a landed shark. Jarod's grip on her tightened painfully to keep her in place as his mount broke into a canter across the slick, treacherous ground. Valiant was close behind, bellowing in rage and harassing Flamelle's mount as the man tried to make good his retreat. She caught a glimpse of Joscelin as he struggled to disengage from the two Crusaders that harried him. His bright blue eyes were desperate as he watched Flamelle ride off._

"_Taliah!"_

"Taliah…" She heard her name again, but while the voice was male, it was not Joscelin's. Something gripped her shoulder and the paladin cried out in fear as she shot to her feet. In a move so practiced it was instinctual, Peacemaker cleared leather and slashed. Powerful hands latched onto her forearms in a crushing grip and she was shoved hard against the wall next to the hearth. Pinned between it and a powerful, armoured body, Taliah cried out for Joscelin as she kicked and struggled. "Taliah! Lich's black bones girl… It's me!" The paladin's eyes were blank and confused as the flashback faded and she found herself staring into a wide, armoured chest.

"Release me!" Taliah's normally pale face was white and she looked up at the deathknight with eyes almost wild in fright. The stone wall at her back was heated from the hearth and nearly as uncomfortable as Necrucian's weight crushing her against it. Even through plate, mail and leather, he could feel her heart hammering in her breast and saw the pulse point at her throat pounding.

"You were thrashing and crying out in your sleep." Necrucian looked down at the paladin in concern, and while she had quit struggling, Taliah was still taut as a bowstring. The deathknight's grip gentled and his expression was darkened by concern. "What were you dreaming about that could frighten you so?" When he was certain she was not likely to gut him, Necrucian released her and moved back just far enough so that the paladin was no longer pinned against the wall.

"Nothing." Taliah said far too quickly and took a deep breath to calm herself. She sheathed her blade and her hand went to the aching scars on her belly that throbbed in concert with the ones on her back. Her hands shook as she tried to regain control and the paladin looked away. "Please, just leave me be."

"I'd like to think that in our time together we have become friends, Taliah." Necrucian put an armoured finger beneath her chin and gently turned her head so she had to look at him. "I worry for you." The look of genuine worry upon the dead man's face was more than the paladin could bear.

"I'm fine." Taliah slid away and walked across the large room to the nightstand by the bed. She poured water from the ewer she found there into a basin and splashed the cold water into her face. Slowly, the ghostly sounds of driving rain and the thundering hoofbeats of the past faded, replaced by the smell of fire, unwashed clothing and sweat.

"Sure you are." The deathknight sighed. "It's perfectly normal to sleep on the floor instead of the perfectly good bed that's not twenty paces away." Taliah had been sleeping before the hearth, wrapped in a huge down comforter she'd taken from the bed. Light help her, she had tried to sleep in the gargantuan featherbed that dominated the room, but it had felt like the plush mattress was trying to swallow her. Lying by the hearth had reminded her of many nights she and Harkness had spent together huddled by a fire, be they in derelict buildings or beneath the stars. It had been only that cold comfort that had allowed her to get any sleep at all.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were going to be debriefing His Royal Highness all morning." Taliah changed the subject and drank straight from the ewer. The water was clean and cold and felt good as it slid down her parched throat.

"I was, but as it's now three bells past midday, I thought I would come and see how you were doing." Necrucian looked the young woman over with a critical gaze and the paladin glanced over her shoulder at the deathknight in surprise. There were no windows to let in the sun and let her judge the passage of time, but she could not believe she'd slept quite _that_ long. "You know, when we were first sent on our mission, I wondered how you were going to get us past the gates." Necrucian crossed his brawny arms over his chest. "Now that I have actually met King Varian, I can see the family resemblance. You could have told me."

Taliah took another gulp from the pitcher, her mouth suddenly feeling dry again. "And what difference would that have made? I know why Fordring picked me. If the missives you carried were lost, I was the only one apart from Tirion himself that was going to get you an audience." The paladin's words were bitter and she slammed set down the pitcher. Water splashed onto the marble floor. "I'll assume you delivered your message and whatnot. Can we go now?"

"Go where?" Necrucian's did no understand Taliah's obvious desire to put Stormwind to her back. From the look the paladin gave him, he decided he was probably not going to like the answer. "If you mean Northrend, the shipping lanes north will be far to treacherous for at least two months to risk going by sea, and it would take you four months to ride from here to Ironforge alone. Besides, it will be months before the Alliance is ready to send its first wave of troops to Northrend. As far as I know, Highlord Mograine and the Ebon Blade are probably still working to secure Acherus from the Scourge." Taliah shuddered at the name 'Mograine' and Necrucian made note of it. "As it stands, I am their representative to the Alliance. For now, my duty lies here."

"Then I suppose this is where we part company." Taliah stated flatly and crossed her arms obstinately over her chest. Her hands had finally quit shaking and her heart no longer felt as though it would leap from her chest though she jumped when a sharp knock came from the bedchamber door. "Bugger off!" the paladin snapped, but the door opened anyway, revealing a short, round woman with an overly pleasant expression. She bustled in and waved the deathknight out.

"Shoo!" The woman seemed completely unfazed that Necrucian was huge, undead and covered in black plate armour. She clapped her hands at him as though he were a disobedient cat. "I will take it from here. Out with you!" The paladin looked between the two in obvious confusion and growing dread.

"I don't think that's -" When the short woman took him by the arm and escorted him through the receiving room, Necrucian found himself unceremoniously shown the door.

"Shoo! I'm sure you and the Highlord have all sorts of interesting things to discuss. Out!" she nearly shoved him out the door and closed it behind him. When she turned to face the paladin, the woman's expression became instantly sweet and matronly as she clasped her hands low before her. Taliah was immediately suspicious.

"Ah Taliah, you're finally awake! It is so good to finally meet you!" The maid approached with her arms wide, as though the paladin were some long-lost daughter. She may have been short and somewhat round, but she was by no means weak, nearly crushing the breath out of Taliah as she embraced her. "You've the regal look of your father, you do. Those eyes, those cheek bones! That beautiful dark hair-" the older woman held the younger one at arm's length and the look on her face turned to one of distaste "Sweet jumping murlocs girl, when did you last bathe?" The woman exclaimed and turned the paladin in the direction of the bedchamber's adjoining bathing room. "Into the bath with you! You smell like something that washed ashore dead a week ago."

"What just a bloody minute. Who the hell _are_ you?" The paladin turned and backed away from the woman as though she thought the maid might bite her.

"Oh, how rude of me!" The woman, dressed in the blue and silver livery of the royal house, gave Taliah a respectful curtsy. "I am Gretchan Balari, head maid to His Majesty's household. Your father sent me to help you get settled in and familiarize you with the palace." Perhaps in her mid fifties, the woman's hair was steel grey streaked with swaths of white and pulled into a severe bun at the back of her head. Gretchan's blue eyes were lively and kind and when she smiled her cheeks dimpled deeply.

"Oh did he?" the words dripped sarcasm and indignation in equal measure "You can go back His Royal Highness and tell him to go fu-"

"My Lady! Such language… I cannot believe you would speak of our King, your _father_, in such a manner!" Gretchan looked absolutely appalled, not to mention profoundly disappointed. "Now get yourself into the bath this instant! Perhaps you'll sound less like a gutter rat when you no longer look like one!"

"Now wait just one Light damned minute!" Taliah bristled and glowered at the slightly shorter woman. "Stop treating me like a child."

"Then kindly quit acting like one." Gretchan sniffed and seemed to immediately regret it. She held her nose and pointed to the marble tub in the next room. "In. _Now_." The paladin's eyes narrowed, but she relented and marched through the door. The room was tiled in warm pink quartzine and at it center was an enormous rectangular tub carved of white stone. A privy chair sat in the far corner while a basin stood at the adjacent side of a room the size of the main room of her mother's cottage. The old woman bustled about humming to herself and turned the brass knobs at the end of the bathtub. Steaming water flowed from one of the two spigots while cold water gushed from the other. Taliah forgot her suspicions and could only watch in fascination and approached, running her calloused fingers over the brass knobs – she had never seen indoor plumbing that did not use a hand pump. As Gretchan was fussing over jars of scented oils that lined a cabinet near the basin, she looked over her shoulder. "What are you waiting for, dear? Strip."

Taliah muttered darkly as she unbuckled her swordbelt and kicked off her boots. When she started to pull her filthy, travel stained tunic over her head, the paladin looked at the woman through the neck hole. "Could I get a little privacy?"

"Pish-tosh. Just toss your clothes in the corner and I'll have them burned or buried or something." Gretchan waved away the paladin's concern and poured dollops of thick oil from several different bottles into the steaming bath. The air began to smell like spring flowers. "The water isn't getting any warmer, dear. Get those filthy clothes off. I doubt very much you have anything I don't have myself or haven't seen before."

With an irritate grunt, Taliah turned her back on the woman. She dragged the filthy tunic over her head and tossed it into the corner by the door before skinning off her equally filthy breaches. She had only grown leaner while at sea and the paladin lamented that she could count every one of her ribs. When the maid capped the small bottles and looked back at the paladin, whatever she was about to say caught in her throat and turned into a horrified gasp. Gretchan had seen her share of scars, but the claw marks that marred the paladin's back and belly were still fresh looking, unlike the multitude of others that had turned white with age. "You were saying?" Taliah asked waspishly. It had been five years, but the claw marks were still pink as though they were only weeks old. She padded across the warm stone tiles and stepped into the thigh-high bathtub. Sinking into the hot water up to her chin, Taliah let out a groan before she could stop herself.

"By the Light, child." Gretchan still seemed in shock and handed the young woman a large sponge and a bar of soap. "What gave you those scars?" When the tub was filled chest-high, the maid turned off the spigots and other than the slosh of the water, the room grew quiet.

Taliah did not answer, instead closing her eyes and letting the heat sink into her muscles. It was the third time in four years she'd been in a bathtub and somewhere in her mind she was squealing and clapping like an excited toddler. A hot bath beat a dip in a frigid stream any day and Taliah found herself relaxing. The paladin scrubbed her arms and face, then slipped under the hot water. She surfaced with a snort and Gretchan poured something that smelled like lilies into her hair and began to scrub with strong fingers.

"You poor girl." The maid murmured. "The horrors you must have seen in the North. I shudder to even think." For a long moment Taliah said nothing, nearly falling asleep at Gretchan's fingers scrubbed at her salty, grimy scalp. While she would have rather had her tongue cut out than admit it, the bath felt like a slice of heaven.

"You get used to it after a while, when it's all you see." Taliah replied wearily. As the tension eased from her body, the paladin let her mind go blank, but try as she might, the flashback she'd been roused from refused to be swept away completely. Had Tirion Fordring not heard the sounds of battle and interceded on that day five years ago, Taliah had little doubt about what where she would be now. As it was, Joscelin had been gravely injured and if not for Fordring's care, would have not have survived. She had heard through rumours whispered about the Argent Dawn encampments that Renault Mograine had been killed, slain by his younger brother Darion with the very blade Renault had used to kill their own father. Even now, the thought of the bastard dying in a pool of his own blood made her smile grimly, though she lamented not being one that had run him through. Her solace was that one day she would rid the world of the thing that disguised itself as Saidan Dathrohan, unless someone beat her to that too.

"My Lady?" Gretchan's gentle voice roused the paladin back to the here and now. Taliah opened her eyes and blinked through the steam.

"Sorry, my mind was wandering." When Taliah finished scrubbing herself pink and the water had turned a nauseating shade of grey, Gretchan offered her a robe as she stepped out of the bathtub. It felt so _good_ to be clean again, even if she did smell of flowers.

"Before you put that robe on, let me get your measurements." Gretchan offered and pulled a length of knotted string, a wax tablet and a stylus from a pocket of her white apron. "The Noble Garden celebration will start next week and we have to get you a gown."

The smell of food wafting in through the open doors between the receiving room, bedchamber and bath was distracting and Taliah was only half paying attention. The paladin backed away as Gretchan approached her with the measuring string. "I don't plan on being here one second longer than absolutely necessary. I completed my mission and as shortly I am going to put as many leagues as possible between myself and this place."

The maid's brow furrowed "Whatever for? You're safe here, and you need rest and plenty of good food. By the Light child, a stiff wind would blow you away! Your father has waited twenty-one years to meet the daughter he never got a chance to know, and you're planning to just leave?" It obviously made no sense to her.

"Call it a family tradition." She belted the robe tightly about herself. "I have no interest in meeting the man who abandoned my mother." Turning on her heels, the paladin marched out of the steamy bathing room, Gretchan close behind.

"He did not 'abandon' your mother, Taliah." The maid pulled up short as the paladin turned and her grey eyes flashed.

"I don't want to hear it. If you would be so kind as to help me find some suitable clothing, I would be most grateful." It was so very hard to not verbally lash out at this infuriating little woman, but she did not blame poor Gretchan for her anger. She blamed Varian Wrynn.

The paladin stepped out into the receiving room, following the smell of food. The sconces were all lit and their candles provided cheerful illumination, compensating for a lack of windows in the suite. Four covered trays greeted her on the receiving room table and the smell of food made the paladin's stomach growl. The brief visit to her mother had been the first time in more years than she cared to remember that Taliah had not had to worry if there was going to be even one meal on any given day. Even with the Argent Dawn, supplies sometimes ran low and were rationed. Aboard the _Arcareena_, it had been two months of salt-beef, hardtack, salted or fresh fish and porridge. Now, new and delicious smells assailed her as she lifted the cover off a dish and she pulled up a chair. Beneath, there was a small pitcher of heavy cream, a bowl of preserved berries in a thick bread pudding and delicate, flaky pastries stuffed with creams and jams.

Gretchan tapped at her lip as she looked the paladin up and down and scribbled something on the tablet with the stylus. "The royal seamstress may have a frock or two that would fit -"

"No." By the tone of Taliah's voice, the discussion was over. "Breaches, tunic and cloak. That's all I need. I can't ride in a dress."

Gretchan's grey brows drew together and her tongue clucked in disapproval "A lady cannot be seen wandering about in men's clothing, Lady Taliah. It's unseemly!"

"I'm a 'lady' in title only, and only because I am a knight. I cannot ride or fight in a dress. Now please… I wish to be alone." She wanted to just frog-march the maid to the door, but Taliah kept her anger reined tightly.

"As you wish, Lady Taliah." Gretchan was flustered, but could tell the young woman's temper was wearing thin. As she left the suite, the maid gave the paladin a sympathetic smile. "Stormwind is peaceful, and since our King's returned, we've enjoyed renewed prosperity. There are no monsters here you would need to fight." The door closed and Taliah found that despite the feast before her, she had no appetite. The paladin slumped in the chair and pushed the food-laden tray away.

"There are always monsters to fight." Taliah sighed wearily.


	2. Chapter 2

Two.

Highlord Darion Mograine sat brooding in his solar, fingers tented before his thin, bloodless lips, his glowing cerulean eyes narrowed in thought. Outside his sanctum in the lower levels of Acherus, the corridors were quiet save for the occasional footfalls of passing patrols. Wresting the ziggurat from his former Scourge brethren had been much easier than the deathknight lord had anticipated. The cleansing of the Ashbringer had done more than break the Lich King's control over the deathknights at Light's Hope; it had a similar effect on the lesser of Arthas's minions. With no puppet master pulling the strings, the mindless husks had simply begun to wander in a daze. They had stormed Acherus expecting to be sorely tested, but other than a few dozen mindlessly aggressive abominations that still had the wherewithal to realize they were being attacked, some of the lesser Scourge had actually been walking into walls or in aimless circles. The 'Battle for Acherus' had been much too short and utterly anticlimactic. The entire thing would have been disappointing if it hadn't been so damn amusing.

Ashbringer. The blade had been a promise of salvation for Lordaeron only to become the doom of the Mograine family. In the hands of Alexandros, it had been an instrument of the Light, until the once holy blade had been desecrated by Renault's betrayal and unforgivable patricide. When the blade had come to Darion, and the Scourge had claimed both him and the sword, it had only been further tainted with the blood of countless innocents.

When in a moment of desperation he had flung the blade to Tirion who had then focused his will upon the Ashbringer, even Darion had felt the colossal surge of power. While he had seen little more than a brilliant golden flash of light, it had _felt_ like being before a dam that had suddenly burst its walls to unleash the raging torrent. Tirion Fordring was powerful, but so was the evil that had claimed Ashbringer. The old paladin alone should not have been able to wash away the foul infection that had claimed the legendary sword. Fordring was a formidable paladin, but not _that_ powerful, unless he had vastly underestimated the man. Mograine didn't find that too likely.

A curt, hard knock came at the solar's heavy saronite door, rousing the undead Lord from his thoughts. "Enter." The door swung wide and a beaten, bloodied human male was propelled unceremoniously through the entry, followed by one of Mograine's deathknights. The prisoner was lightly armoured and wearing the tattered uniform of the Scarlet Crusade, and while the style of the uniform was that of a courier, the man looked more like a thief. His face was battered and the man's left eye was bloodied and swollen shut. Despite his outward appearance and clothing indicating otherwise, everything about him reeked of 'mercenary'. The wretch tried to keep his feet as he was thrust violently forward, only to trip and sprawl into the center of the room. Mograine looked the human over as though he were something that would need to be scraped off the Highlord's boot later. "Waste disposal is three floors down, Thassarian."

"I apologize for the disturbance, my Lord." Thassarian bowed his head in a curt gesture of respect and pointed down at the terrified man on the floor. "This piece of filth was found outside of Tyr's Hand. Wherever he was headed, he was in a hurry."

"And you have brought him before me…why?" Thassarian was not one who needed orders and direction often, nor was he one to bother his commander without good reason. In answer to Mograine's question, he tossed a leather courier satchel to Darion. Delving inside the battered bag, Mograine pulled out a sheaf of hastily folded yellowed parchment and an ancient, leather-bound tome. He looked down at the man cowering upon his floor and held up the torn pages. "Explain."

"Please, don't kill me!" the man begged as he managed to get to his knees "I stole them from the archive at T-T-Tyr's Hand. It was just a job!"

In two strides, Mograine rose from his seat, covering the distance between himself and the snivelling wretch on his floor. The Highlord's mailed hand wrapped about the man's throat and jerked him easily into the air as Thassarian watched dispassionately. "I am not in the mood to play a question-and-answer game." The man's hands gripped futilely at Darion's armoured forearm. Mograine's lip curled in revulsion as the front of the man's breaches darkened in a steadily growing stain that then rand down his leg. The acid smell of fresh urine filled the solar. "If what you have to say does not irritate me unduly, I may let you live."

Darion's cold, ethereal voice did not rise above a low growl and the man turned ashen in terror. "He just said he wanted the book and those other pages." The man stammered, his eyes wide in panic. When the Highlord's glowing blue eyes narrowed and his hand tightened about throat in his grip the human forged on, his words coming in a wheezing rush. "I don't know who he was all he wanted was the book and those pages and I was to meet him outside Andorhal in a fortnight and he'd pay me in gold oh please don't kill me I don't know his name but he had funny marks on his face like you do oh Light please don't kill me!"

Unless the thief was _exceedingly_ well trained, Mograine had a suspicion that what the man had just babbled was all the pertinent information he was going to get from him. The terror in the man's eyes was genuine and even a seasoned spy did not normally piss themselves to try and convince you they had nothing else to of use to tell. His mailed hand opened and the mercenary dropped to the floor, clutching his throat and gasping for air. Darion turned and cautiously opened thumb-thick tome. The brown leather cover was cracked and dried with age, its thin parchment pages threatening to crumble should his touch be anything but gentle. The text was hand-written in the script of ancient Arathor and the Highlord thought perhaps all the classical schooling of his youth might not have been such a waste of time after all. The tome was a biography – _Erest Hanur Ofidiay Talos Melianir. _ It took a moment of delving back some twenty years to his youth, but Darion managed to at least translate the title: _The Rise and Fall of Talos Melianir_. At the moment, it meant little enough and he carefully placed the book upon the obsidian and dragonbone table by his chair. The sheaf of yellowed, folded parchment that appeared to have been torn from a book and Darion's pale right eyebrow rose as he skimmed over the genealogy chart it contained. One name, printed neatly near the middle of the first page – Talos Melianir- caused his gaze to narrow in curiosity. His interest growing, he followed the Melianir bloodline over the next four pages until it ended with a child born nearly four decades ago. Mograine scowled down at the pages. Why precisely the Cult of the Damned, and therefore the Scourge, wanted this information, he could not yet fathom. "Thassarian." Darion did not turn to look at him "Did anyone else see these documents?"

"To my knowledge? No one other than myself, my Lord." the deahtknight responded as he looked up from the man still huddled on the floor. "Doubtful the two who ran him down cared what was in the satchel."

"You will speak of this to no one." The order was clear and Thassarian gave a silent nod.

"M-my Lord?" the wretch on the floor looked up at the Highlord, though it took all his remaining courage to do so. Tall and powerful, covered in black plate and seemingly shrouded in an aura of unquestionable authority and violence, Darion Mograine was terrifying to behold. "I told you all I know, I swear." The man tried to keep the panic from his face but looked immediately at the floor as the Highlord turned his attention back to him. "The c-c-coin was too good, b-b-but I m-m-meant no harm."

_You meant no harm, but you would take coin form the Cult of the Damned…_"This is a very interesting find." Mograine mused, but his voice was soft and cold. Both the Argent Crusade and the Ebon Blade had wrested the site from what had been left of the Scarlet Onslaught, or whatever they were calling themselves now. The man obviously had a little skill if he'd managed to slip into Tyr's Hand to steal from the archives. Obviously not enough to also make good his escape, but still… "How can I be sure you will speak to no one of this, human?" He thought the man was going to burst into tears at any moment, and he was right.

"I'll tell no one, sir!" He shuffled forward on his knees and clutched desperately at Darion's cloak, begging and sobbing. "Please! If you release me I'll tell no one, you have my word!"

Rarely had Mograine been witness to such cowardice and it revolted him. His gaze flickered to Thassarian who hadn't moved since his arrival and seemed completely inured to the man's blubbering. "Thassarian…" Mograine turned his back to the man and gingerly picked up the tome and began to read. "Release him." The mercenary's eyes widen in relief and an idiot's grin revealed his yellowed teeth as the man made to thank Mograine for his kindness. Anything the wretch was about to say in gratitude suddenly became a wail of despair as the room rang out with the sound of Thassarian's sword clearing the scabbard at his back.

Gretchan had returned before the dinner hour with two servants in tow, each with a large woven basket full of clothing. The baskets were left in the bedchamber and the maid made apologies for having other duties to attend to and advised Taliah that she would return later in the evening.

Taliah picked through the garments in the basket, rejecting some out of hand. Pink? Mauve? Buttercup yellow? The paladin's lip curled in distaste. "Would be mighty hard to go unnoticed if I were dressed up like a circus clown, Gretch." Taliah muttered to herself. She considered finding the most hideous and mismatched colours she could come across in the selection, just to see the look of horror on the old harpy's face. Taliah decided against it when she realized the ensuing lecture on complimentary colours would probably last until morning. The paladin would have rather stabbed out her own eyes and rubbed salt in the wounds.

Taliah dug past the silk and brocade tunics and found a half dozen that were some shade of grey, brown or green. Next she pawed through the breeches. Thankful they seemed to only come in black, greys and browns and were either soft leather, fine wool or linen. There was an abundance of small-clothes as well, made of silks and fine linens, and the paladin shrugged out of her robe. Her skin twitched at the unfamiliar coolness of the fine silk against her skin and she dressed by the hearth to warm herself. Taliah looked into the fire _it was low and soothing, keeping the small, spartan chamber warm. She lay on her side in Joscelin's arms, her back pressed against the muscular plains of his broad chest. "I don't like it here, Joss. It wasn't so bad when we first got here, but now…?" Taliah's smaller body curled into the boy's larger frame and he held her gently. "I don't know what these people are, but they aren't followers of the Light. Not anymore. We aren't safe here." Joscelin's embrace became protective and he kissed the unruly black curls at the top of her head. In three years, they had both been witness to the steady moral decline of the Scarlet Crusade. Ones a beacon of goodness and hope, it had become overzealous and paranoid of anyone outside of their ranks. Joscelin had been hearing disturbing rumours of late, of refugees who had come seeking protection only to be tortured and executed as Scourge 'spies'._

"_I know, Tali." Joss's deep voice was a whisper. He wasn't supposed to be here and he shuddered to think of the punishment should he be caught. Renault Mograine had ordered the boy weeks ago to stay away from Taliah because it was 'distracting the girl from her training'. Regardless, the two young paladins would meet secretly every chance they got. Tonight, he had slipped from his quarters and climbed the ivy trellis to the second floor of the east wing of the Monastery, just to spend a quiet moment with her. They both lay in her bed, seeking comfort in each other's arms. Tthey were fully clothed and there was none of the fumbling or sweaty-palmed groping that usually accompanied two teenagers abed. While they were definitely in love, their physical affections had yet to go beyond a kiss. "Lord Dathrohan arrives tomorrow. I will try to catch him alone and speak with him. He's a good, noble man. He'll know what to do."_

_Taliah rolled over in Joscelin's arms to face him, her grey eyes sick with worry "Be careful, Joss. Whatever has affected the Crusade here may have spread to the Bastion." Her fingertips brushed his hansom face and traced the strong, square jaw. There was an unusually sombre look in his sky-blue eyes. "Joscelin… what's wrong?"_

"_Taliah…" Harkness's browed furrowed "Mograine is having me transferred to Hearthglen in a week, that is, if I can't convince Lord Dathrohan to rescind the order. We need to get out of here. Perhaps Saidan will take us back to the Bastion with him." He was taking an awful risk. Unquestioning obedience was something the Scarlet Crusade demanded. Going over a superior officer's head was unthinkable. Joscelin's jaw set grimly. "I fear that if they separate us, we will never see each other again." It wasn't just an angsty teenage complaint; Renault had been doing his best outside of outright putting them in lockdown to keep Joscelin and Taliah apart for over a month._

"_If Lord Dathrohan cannot be persuaded, we're going to have to leave this place, Joss." Taliah did not relish the thought of being alone and on the run in what remained of Lordaeron. The daily sermons in the Cathedral were a litany of the horrors that waited beyond the protection of the Scarlet Crusade. After having only just survived the battle of Andorhal, Taliah had no reason to believe they were lies. "I-" She never got to finish the sentence. The door to her chamber burst open violently and the room was filled with harsh lantern light. Both young paladins leapt from the bed and Joscelin stepped in front of Taliah to shield her. _

"_How dare you defy my orders!" Renault Mograine roared. Behind him, Joscelin caught a glimpse of Brigitte Abbendis smirking coldly at him. "Taliah, has he hurt you?"_

"_What?" the girl asked, her voice laden with fear and confusion "No! He would never -"_

"_Captain Abbendis, take young Harkness back to his quarters explain to him why it is unwise to disobey direct orders." Mograine snarled. Brigitte's smirk turned into a malevolent grin as the Captain and another man Taliah did not know waded into the small room. Joscelin had been prepared to accept his fate and go quietly as the two zealots began to escort him away, until Mograine advanced on Taliah and gave her a ringing slap to the face that rocked her head back and split her bottom lip. The girl cried out, more in surprise than pain, Joscelin spun and lunged at Renault all the same. When the male Crusader tried to restrain the young but bullish paladin, Harkness responded by elbowing the man in the face. His nose broke with a pop and he howled in pain as blood gushed from the injury._

_Taliah had never seen Joscelin so enraged and the boy's usually merry blue eyes were almost murderous as they skewered Mograine. Joss's fist cocked back, ready to let fly when Taliah cried out in warning. The sharp sound of steel being drawn and the look of abject terror in the girl's eyes made Harkness glance over his shoulder. There was naked steel in Brigitte Abbendis's hand and she struck Joscelin a hard blow to the back of the skull with the pommel of her sword. Harkness went limp, crashing to the stone floor with a heavy thud. Taliah punched and kicked at Renault, snarling and cursing like a cornered badger as the Captain and Broken Nose dragged the unconscious boy from the room._

"_You son of a bitch!" Taliah snarled. Her knee jerked up into his groin but Renault managed to shift enough that she only managed to hit him high on the inner thigh. Taliah was rewarded with another hard slap for her troubles. Her head bounced off the wal and her mouth was filled with the hot, coppery taste of her own blood. Mograine wrestled the girl's arms over her head and pinned them there as he crushed her against the wall with his body to restrain her. He'd expected the hit to cow her, instead it only seemed to make her more angry._

"_Silence, you little whore." He growled through bared teeth "There is very little that is keeping me from simply having the boy executed." That seemed to get her attention, and Taliah ceased her thrashing to glower at him in hatred before finally looking away. "That's better." The feel of him against her made Taliah want to vomit and she squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn't fear for herself that kept her from struggling, it was the fear that her actions were only going to make things worse for Joscelin. Renault's hand cupped her reddened cheek and she wanted to jerk her face away, but instead Taliah suffered his touch in silence. "Are you trying to make me angry? You know how I feel about you, and yet you do this to me." Mograine whispered into her ear and he leaned forward. As his nose and lips brushed the side of her neck, he inhaled deeply. "A jealous man is a dangerous man, Taliah." Confident she would no longer try something violent, he released her arms and his hands slid down the girl's sides to rest upon her hips. He could tell she desperately wanted to strike out at him and he smiled as her eyes flicked to the sheathed runeblade that hung from a hook by her bed. _

_Taliah flinched when Renault laughed "Ah, such spirit. Truly, you will prove a worthy consort. Light grant me patience for the next two years." He murmured against her throat before taking a step back and looking down upon her as though the young paladin was a disobedient pet. "If I find you in Harkness's arms again, I will not hesitate to kill him." The Scarlet Commander's warning hung heavy in the air as he turned and left, but not before he confiscated her sword. The door to her chamber slammed behind him and she heard the metal-on-metal click as it was locked from the outside. Taliah let out the breath she'd been holding and it left her lungs with a deep, disgusted shudder. Sliding to the floor, the young paladin wrapped her arms around herself and stared blankly into the fire. _Taliah blinked as though she had sand in her eyes and looked about herself in confusion; her tiny chamber in the Scarlet Monastery faded into the much larger and more lavishly appointed one she actually occupied. She shook her head to clear it and wondered if she wasn't going quite mad.

As it had that morning, the evening meal came on four covered trays. Clad in a dove-grey tunic and black kidskin breeches, she poked at the juicy capon and fretted the roasted and buttered baby potatoes and carrots around her plate before finally eating. Taliah looked down the long, empty table and tried not to feel utterly alone. She managed to polish off most of the feast laid out on her table, but despite a full belly, the paladin grew restless. Picking out a forest green cloak, she strapped on her swordbelt and slipped out the suite's door, surprised to find it wasn't locked.

Her boots rang off the polished stone of the corridors as she walked, but while they were lined with windows, tapestries and plinths with white marble busts of people she didn't recognize, they were otherwise deserted. Eerily, it reminded her of the Manastery and it did not take her long to become hopelessly lost. Taliah stopped and cocked her head at an intersection of two corridors. From the right, she heard the faint sounds of conversation and figuring it was as good a direction as any, made her way down the hall. The sound of conversation grew louder and Taliah stepped from the corridor into an immense room with a park-like setting complete with trees, grass, footpaths and a fountain. The dome above was made of clear glass and while it was dusking without, the interior of the atrium was well lit by torches and polished brass sconces that winked in the light. The couple nearest to her, a man in extravagant clothing and a woman in an evening gown, stopped talking and looked at her with wary curiosity. Taliah ignored their gaze and walked about. Servants circulated with trays of hors d'ouerves and beverages and Taliah helped herself to a flute of something amber coloured and bubbly. The servant blinked at her when she tossed it back and took another before wandering off. A string quartet played something soft and slow you couldn't dance to, though the music was relaxing and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. The partygoers were in formal attire and Taliah was aware of the looks of disgust she was getting from even the servants. The atrium was bustling and Taliah was having a hard time finding the exit. As she passed a knot of finely attired gentlemen, one reached out and took her upper arm in an iron grip.

"I doubt very much you were on the guest list." The man's deep voice was cold and disdainful, as though he were speaking to someone who barely merited being called 'human'. Hard muscle corded beneath his hand. At first he thought the intruder to be male until the party crasher's head turned slowly to skewer him with frigid grey eyes that were somehow familiar. Lord Baen Tavarbrook was tall and fit for a man in his mid fifties. Sporting cold green eyes that were hooded like a hawk's and set deep into in a face that looked younger than his years, the man held himself as though he were royalty. His more pepper than salt hair was short, barely brushing his shoulders and while he towered over the trespasser by six inches she didn't seem the least bit intimidated. "You're a bit old to be running about in your father's clothes, girl." Baen sneered and the men around him chuckled. One of the young woman's thin black brows arched and she looked down at the hand gripping her arm before slowly looking back up at him.

"Remove your hand from me, sir." Her tone was neutral though her expression turned icy as Tavarbrook looked her up and down as though he were inspecting broodstock at a horse fair. His eyes came back to her face, eventually, and they narrowed. Yes, the eyes and face were somehow familiar. "Have we met before, girl?"

"I don't believe I'd had the misfortune." Taliah replied with a sardonic smirk "I won't ask you again, mate. You can either get your hand off me, or I will remove it at the shoulder." Her eyes flickered down and to the left ever so briefly and Tavarbrook followed her glance. She flicked back her long cloak to reveal the blade rode her hip. It was all she could do to keep her growing anger under control. How dare he treat her like this! She was a paladin, a veteran of three major battles and one of the few surviving members of the Silver Hand.

"Dressed like a man _and_ bearing arms in the palace. How quaint." Tavarbrook laughed. "I didn't realize it was already Hallow's End. It's a bit early to be masquerading as Lord Bolvar girl, though you've managed to replicate Fordragon's sense of style admirably." The men behind him broke out in derisive laughter. "Who do you think you are, girl? You come in here and disrupt my party, and then think to threaten me with a toy sword? As it is, I think you owe my guests and myself an apology for your appalling lack of manners, though I've half a mind to turn you over my knee, sweetling." Tavarbrooks lips twisted into a lecherous smile "Though if you prefer, you can 'apologize' to me later in private." The guffaws grew louder.

Taliah's lips slowly pulled back from her teeth in an almost feral snarl as the last shreds of her emotional control unravelled. Her eyes flamed white in rage and the laughter stopped abruptly.

Gretchan bustled about in the atrium's annex, making sure the servants' trays were full and that fresh hors d'ouerves were coming up from the kitchen. While she may have been the head maid of Wrynn's household, she was also occasionally asked to oversee various parties and celebrations within the palace. Gretchan enjoyed her tasks, always eager to further the reputation of what she considered her adopted family. As she instructed one of her helpers to open a few more bottles of champagne, she heard a burst of laughter. It was the type of nasty, derisive sniggering that had no place at a gathering populated by the highest ranking noble families of Stormwind. The maid wiped her hands on a cloth and strode to the atrium entrance. Short as she was, Gretchan had to stand on her tiptoes and weave to see what was going on, but when she did, her face turned pale. "Light be merciful!" she gasped and turned to the kitchenboy, a scruffy lad of perhaps twelve, who idled by a tray of unattended dainties. "Jafrey, Highlord Bolvar is in his solar, go fetch him. Be swift boy, and tell him to bring the King's Own. Tell him it is urgent!" The boy took off at a run and Gretchan hitched up her dress and sprinted out into the atrium to try and avert what promised to be imminent violence and bloodshed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three.**

"An invasion before the end of summer is just not logistically possible." Bolvar ran a hand down his face as he looked over the reports on his desk. "I've got a two battalions in Red Ridge to combat the Blackrock threat there; another five companies are tied up in Duskwood fighting the worgen infestation and I've a full brigade in Westfall, trying to root out the last of the Defias Brotherhood." Fordragon sat in the great leather armchair behind his desk and leaned back into it in fatigue.

"I would not recommend even landing in Northrend bellow division strength. Anything less and you will not advance far beyond either the Borean Tundra to the west or the Howling Fjord to the east." The deathknight pointed out the locations on the map. "You will need far more than even that once you reach Icecrown."

"King Varian has sent urgent missives to the various leaders within the Alliance. I'm confident we can muster numbers, but I cannot guaranty a quick resolution within the House of Nobles for provisions to go to war." Fordragon tugged at his ruddy beard in thought. "What of Fordring's Argent Crusade?" he asked "How many men can he field?"

"Many of the Argent Dawn fell at Light's Hope. I'm certain more will flock to his banner now that he's given them a new name and purpose, but Lordaeron is sparsely populated." Necrucian shook his head "I believe he could muster a few thousand, but no more." It was not the news the Highlord wanted to hear, that much was plain. "The problem is not so much the manpower you can muster, Highlord." The deathknight looked at the man evenly "It is how much time the Lich King decides to gift you with before he moves on Stormwind itself."

An urgent knock interrupted what had been a relatively casual meeting and the door opened upon Bolvar's invitation. A man in oiled mail and the blue and gold surcoat of the King's own guard escorted a panting kitchenboy into the room. The lad tried to speak, but doubled over, hands posted into his thighs to keep himself from falling as he gasped for breath. He babbled something between pants that was so fast as to be incomprehensible. Bolvar got from his chair "Easy son. Take a breath and try again."

"My Lord..." He managed, still trying to catch his breath. "Gretchan sent me to fetch you and the King's Own. I think there's trouble in the atrium." The poor lad hadn't actually seen anything himself, only heard the laughter die and the screams begin.

Necrucian and Bolvar exchanged glances. The palace guards would normally be summoned if someone got unruly or there was some kind of general threat within the walls of the keep. If Gretchan wanted the King's own guard, it was for something much more serious than a drunken, unruly party guest.

"Taliah…" Necrucian groaned and ran a hand down his face in exasperation.

"You cannot even begin to fathom the trouble you're in, girl." A thin trickle of crimson slid down the man's throat to stain the white of his silk tunic. Baen Havarbrook, the most powerful nobleman in Stormwind, was on his knees with his head yanked back at a painful angle by the unrelenting fist clutching his hair. Taliah glared down at him with eyes that glowed balefully white. Despite the sword at his throat, the nobleman did an admirable job of looking irritated and disdainful instead of terrified.

"I've met men like you before." The paladin's voice was low and deathly calm "You think your power gives you licence to debase and control others for your own amusement." A cold smile pulled at her lips "Give me a reason not to gift you with a gaping red smile beneath your chin." She growled and the smile turned almost malevolent. "Give me a _very_ good reason." All of the pain she had tried to keep tightly leashed since Joscelin's death had finally shattered the walls she had put in place to maintain her control. Part of her recoiled in horror at the rage that geysered fourth, but a piece of her revelled in it. _Those who prey upon the weak must be punished…_ it whispered _Those who would seek to harm you and those you love must pay…_Many of the partygoers had fled, but others lingered, too morbidly curious for their own good. Behind her, Gretchan continued to plead.

"Taliah, I beg you, let him go." The maid's voice broke nervously as she held up her hands in a non-aggressive gesture when Taliah glanced up at her. "There's no need to do this."

"No need?" The glowing white eyes narrowed "This piece of shit seeks to humiliate and insult me, and there's _no need_?" Her lips twisted into a sneer as she glared down at the kneeling man once more "I'm still waiting for that reason..." From behind her came the sounds of lightly armoured men and the jostle of a parting crowd. Taliah could have cared less. Men barked orders and the remaining partygoers began to make for the exits.

The sound of steel being drawn gave her pause and she shoved Havarbrook backwards. Nobleman measured his length upon the floor and held a hand to his neck as though the paladin might have made good on her threat. "Taliah." Bolvar had a sword in his hand, though it was held low, the deadly point almost touching the polished stone floor. His voice was firm and heavy with authority. "Lay down your weapon."

Gretchan rushed to the nobleman's side and knelt next to him "Let me help you, my Lord." She said, putting her fingers to the small but bleeding cut on Havarbrook's neck. "I'll get you to the healer."

"Get your hands off me, you filthy peasant." He snapped. Humiliated and irate, he lashed out at the maid, backhanding her across the face and sending the poor woman sprawling. As Gretchan put a hand to her cheek and a trickle of blood dripped from her split lip onto her white apron, Taliah spun and Peacemaker ignited in white, heatless flame. Gretchan's eyes widened as the enraged paladin took a long stride towards them, seemingly having momentarily forgotten about Bolvar.

"Taliah, no!" Gretchan and the Highlord's words were drowned out by a howl of agony as Peacemaker moved upwards in a smooth arc and sheared through Havarbrook's arm a the elbow. The nobleman clutched the gushing stump of his arm and fell to his knees. It happened in an instant and Bolvar's intercepting parry was a second too late. Jerking off her cloak with her free hand, Taliah spun and threw it in Bolvar's face as he regrouped and tried to harry her away from the fallen man.

"See to Gretchan and Havarbrook." Necrucian snapped and the five men of the King's Own hesitated only for a moment before moving to obey with alacrity. The two paladins move in a deadly dance of steel, but while Bolvar was an expert swordsman and he was doing a fine job of keeping her at bay, it was obvious he did not want to kill the girl. It was also obvious Taliah did not share in the Highlord's restraint, and unless something happened soon, one of them was going to die.

_**All that I am: anger, cruelty, vengeance - I bestow upon you, my chosen knight. I have granted you immortality so that you may herald in a new, dark age for the**____**Scourge**__**. **_ The memory of his foul rebirth was a bitter one. Once, he had been a loyal son of Lordaeron, betrayed and murdered by the Prince he had sworn to serve. He had been raised to undeath and made to serve that same man who had then order him to slay his wife and child. Necrucian took hold of his pain and the seething hate within him. His mind raged against the unfairness of his fate and the pain he had caused, especially to Taliah and as he did, the deathknight felt the darkness rush to his call. It was only too eager to empower him and begged to be unleashed in a torrent of destruction. The deathknight may no longer have been Aaros Marston, but nor was he the same Necrucian, servant of the Lich King, who had hacked and slashed his way across Northrend and Lordaeron. He was master of his own will now, and _he_ controlled the dark power that was now his twisted birthright. It no longer controlled _him_.

So acute was her focus upon her opponent, Taliah failed to sense the deathknight's attack and in her anguish-fuelled rage, she redoubled her attack against Bolvar. He parried her hard over-head strike and levelled a punch at the girl's jaw, but she jerked her head away and took his wrist in an iron grip. Jerking him forward Taliah's buried the heel of her boot into Bolvar's belly. The man doubled over as the air rushed from his lungs and bile burned up his throat. Taliah raised her weapon to strike only to suddenly gag as though she had a noose about her neck. Peacemaker clattered to the ground and the flame that licked along the sword's blade flickered and died, as did the white fire that burned from the young woman's eyes.

Taliah felt her feet rise from the floor as the invisible hand about her throat hauled her three feet into the air. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears and her lungs burned for oxygen, but while her mouth was open, no air was coming in, and no sound was leaving. As her eyes grew wild with panic, they settled upon Necrucian, his black armoured body haloed by an aura of darkness. His bloodless lips were twisted into a snarl and his glowing cerulean eyes shone like beacons from his pale face. Taliah kicked and thrashed as black spots began to fill her field of vision. The young woman fought with every once of strength she had, but Necrucian was unrelenting and the end was inevitable.

Taliah's struggles ceased and her body went limp in the unseen grasp. The deathknight released her as he let go of the emotions that fuelled him and he only hoped he hadn't killed her. The deathknight felt tainted, as he always did when forced to call upon the power bestowed upon him by the one being on Azeroth he hated most. The Highlord caught the young paladin as she fell and cradled her in his arms despite the fact she had tried to kill him only moments before. Bolvar sighed at the adrenalin singing in his veins began to ebb. "Lets get her out of here."

Bolvar stood in the receiving room of Taliah's suite, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. Varian Wrynn sat slouched in a large leather armchair looking tired and drawn. Fordragon glanced at the deathknight who stood before the glowing hearth. "There is something wrong with the girl, that much is obvious."

"All I know is that the Taliah I've travelled with for near on three months now is not the girl I saw this evening. Granted she's short tempered and abrasive, but not like _this_." The deathknight replied evenly and his eerie blue eyes closed "I can't say I haven't seen it before, I just never expected to see it in a paladin."

"What do you mean?" Varian looked up at the dead man from beneath his brows. He had been lying in bed sleepless when the news had come of the attack in the atrium. By sunrise he would be dealing with a scandal of epic proportions. Worse still, while Lord Havarbrook would live, the healers had been unable to save his arm.

"I wasn't always a deathknight." Necrucian replied tonelessly "I was a city guard once. I saw plenty of veterans of the First War just like her - angry, directionless and traumatized. They'd get drunk and start fights; things would sometimes get out of hand and someone would be killed." The deathknight ran a hand down his pale face "She's been on the front lines so long, she can't relate to 'normal' people anymore. After having to scrounge for supplies and be on constant alert to stay alive, she's suddenly thrust into polite society where the rules she's been forced to survive by suddenly no longer apply."

Before this evening, Varian had been trying to decide how to begin to build a rapport with his daughter, who very obviously resented him. Wrynn had hoped he would one day meet her, but never in his worst nightmares had he even considered the fact that she may actually hate him. Necrucian had explained the probable root cause of the events in the atrium. Varian understood only too well how the death of the man she loved could have affected Taliah so badly. Only compounding the situation was the fact he'd been killed by the same man she had then been ordered to protect. Light knew he'd been a wreck after Tiffin's death, but while he could comprehend the agony and turmoil the girl was in, he could not condone or ignore the violence it had wrought.

The door to the bedchamber opened and Gretchan slipped into the main room. There was a red mark upon her cheek and a small scab upon her lower lip from the slap she had received at Havarbrook's hand. Varian had bid her rest, but the maid had politely declined and insisted on staying with Taliah. "She is awake, sire." Gretchan smiled sadly at the man she'd known from boyhood. She had fled Stormwind with him and Lothar after King Llane's murder and served him while he sat in exile in the court of King Terenas Menethil. The maid had seen Varian's first love torn from him, his young queen's death and now watched the man's heart break once more. Gretchan began to wonder if there wasn't some sort of curse upon the Wrynn family.

Taliah sat on the edge of the bed, back to the door, her head hanging miserably and buried in her hands. She was exhausted and the flesh about her throat was bruised and raw. The rage was gone leaving only profound shame in its wake. One moment she'd been mildly annoyed and in the blink of an eye it had turned to near murderous wrath. Truly, Taliah knew she would have killed Havarbrook had the rational part of mind had not stayed her hand.

"Taliah?" Varian stepped through the door alone and the girl did not turn to look at him. Wrynn approached slowly and while he was not afraid of her, he did not want to make Taliah uncomfortable either.

"After twenty one years, do we really have anything to say to each other?" she asked without raising her head. Her thick black curls curtained her face and while he could not see her expression her raspy voice was an almost dead monotone.

"I'd like to think so." Wrynn replied openly. "Taliah, I kept my distance to keep you safe. I'm sorry if it made you feel abandoned, but at the time, there was no other way to protect you and yet still not draw attention to you. Don't doubt for a second that I didn't wish every damn day that I could have been there to be a father to you."

The paladin looked up at him with cool grey eyes "And now that you've seen what I'm capable of, do you still feel the same way?" she asked harshly. Taliah had half expected him to be angry, but the look of terrible concern on his scarred face made her look away once again.

"Nothing that has happened has changed how I feel." Wrynn replied firmly. "Necrucian told me what happened at Light's Hope. I know the pain you suffer, Taliah. Please, let me help you."

The paladin rose from the bed and walked to the hearth, her back to the King. "Don't patronize me." She replied coldly "I survived this long without your 'help'. I don't intent to suddenly needing it now." Taking a deep breath, Taliah finally turned to face her father. She stood tall but there was only shame in her expression. "Throw me in the dungeon or throw me out the portcullis but either way, let this be the last we see of each other. You've a war to prepare for in Northrend and I have a crime to answer for."

"Taliah, you need help, not imprisonment." Varian had to make her see reason. "I will have the finest healers and physicians see to your needs. I know you're in a dark place right now, I've been there myself, but there is hope."

"I gave up on hope a while ago." Taliah turned away once more and put her arms about herself "Please… just leave me be."

Sensing the battle lost for the time being, Varian sighed "If there is anything I can do…" he left the offer hanging in the air before slipping out the door and leaving the paladin to her tortured thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

Five.

_It had been a week since Thassarian had left their encampment in search of their Prince, and it was as though Northrend itself had swallowed him up. Only two of the eight scouts sent out had ever returned, and they'd found no trace of Thassarian, Arthas nor his two captains, Flaric and Marwyn. Aaros Marston let out a long breath into his cupped hands to warm them and while he kept a brave face, he knew he would never see home again. Of the eight hundred men that had left Lordaeron's port that fine, late summer day five months ago, only a few dozen remained. Those that hadn't been cut down by waves of howling undead had died of exposure. The men were cold, hungry and losing hope. Aaros, though only a sergeant, had earned the mantle of leadership through attrition and as he looked over his men who huddled forlornly around clustered campfires, the former city guard knew he had to do something. Even if it proved futile, he could not just on the beach and wait for death to claim them. Taking little of the dwindling supplies, Aaros Marston left the encampment in search of his Prince, forbidding any of the survivors to come looking for him should he not return in a fortnight. _

_A week later, alone in the wilds of Northrend, only his small campfire kept the darkness and the beasts at bay. He shivered in the weak firelight, hungry and exhausted. The air was so cold it hurt to breathe and the beginnings of a rattling cough was sapping the last of his strength. Aaros closed his eyes and let himself remember a better time; one of sun and green grass and of Ciel and the child he would likely never see, who had more than likely come into the world two months after they'd left Lordaeron._

"_Ciel…" he looked up into the clear night sky and wondered if she was doing the same from the small porch of their home. "I'm so sorry my love. I never should have left you." The words were heavy with regret and longing. Marston knew he would never hold her again and let her golden hair slide through his calloused fingers like so much spun gold, and it hurt worse than the frostbite that nipped at his ears and toes._

"_But we have accomplished so much, Sergeant." The voice from the darkness startled him and Marston staggered to his numbed feet on legs that were aching with cold. He knew the voice, but there was something unnatural about it. Something __**wrong**__._

"_M-my Prince?" Aaros' guts froze as Arthas stepped into the weak circle of firelight. The smoking two-handed sword, the prize their Prince had dragged them to this frozen hell for, rested lazily upon Arthas' shoulder as though it weighed as little as one of Marston's shortswords. "Your men are dying of cold and hunger on the beach, my Lord." _

"_I know. Soon the cold will claim them, and my work can begin in earnest." The Prince smirked at him and Aaros could only look at him blankly, stunned by his words. This was not the man he had followed to Northrend. "You're a good man, Sergeant. I will need a man of your loyalty and resourcefulness in the days to come."_

"_What the hell are you talking about? The men will __**die**__. Do you not hear what I'm saying?" Weeks of fear and frustration, uncertainty and despair got the better of him, and his anger rose to indignation as Arthas's lips twisted into a sneer. "Why?" Aaros cried out "We followed you in good faith. We served out of loyalty and love for you and our country, and this is how we are repaid?" Marston spat "You've gone mad!"_

_The smoking greatsword slid from the Prince's shoulder and he held it leisurely at his side, the wicked tip touching the trampled snow about Marston's campsite. "I have seen the truth of why I was called here, Sergeant." Arthas's lips pulled into an evil smirk that made the blood in Aaros' veins run cold. "I am no longer the man that led you to this place. I am more… I am better."_

"_You are nothing more than a man who has forsaken everything he was, for __**that**__." Aaros stabbed a finger at Forstmourn, plainly disgusted. He could almost feel the hunger radiating from the thing as Arthas lifted the object in question to look at it almost lovingly. "You aren't fit to lead good men, Arthas. I only wish I would have seen it before it was too late."_

_In one giant stride, Lordaeron's prince closed the distance between himself and Marston. Cold and exhausted as he was, Aaros could not move fast enough to draw his weapons or move away. Arthas seized him by the shoulder with his left hand as his right stabbed forward and buried Frostmourn into Marston's belly. The terrible sword punched through the boiled leather and chainmail protection as though it were linen, fully a foot of the blade exiting his back. He looked up at his Prince in shock as a wash of crimson slid down the armour on his thighs to splash the snow. Aaros wanted to scream in agony, but though they moved, no sound came from his lips,. With an abrupt jerk, Frostmourn slid free of his flesh and he could feel it scraping over bone as it left his body. Aaros staggered and fell to his knees before falling backward to measure his length on the frozen ground. He stared up at the clear, night sky, though again of Ciel doing the same from their porch, their babe at her breast and wonder when he would come home. _

"_I forgive your treason, Aaros Marston." Arthas stood over him, suddenly blotting out the sky. Aaros blinked up at him, tears of despair and agony freezing to his cheeks as they slid from the corners of his eyes. "You have been a loyal servant and you shall be rewarded…" Arthas' grin became fierce as the tip of Frostmorn's hungry blade touched the downed man's boiled leather breastplate almost gently. Aaros stiffened as he felt something torn from his very being. The cursed Blade flared blue-white for a moment and the pain was far worse than the belly wound that bled the ground red. "You will be among the first of my elite and we will return hom,e Sergeant. You will help me share this gift with my kingdom."_

Necrucian's glowing blue eyes blinked as the vision faded, and it took all of his control not put his fist through the oak table beside him. He sat alone in the darkness of his quarters, the low-burning hearth the only illumination. It vaguely reminded him of the campfire from so long ago. He still vaguely remembered his dark rebirth, how he had felt like a prisoner in his body, his consciousness merely a small, fragile thing forced to watch as he was forced to commit countless atrocities. While his soul was still trapped within Frostmourn's cursed blade, he would never truly be free.

Lord Baen Havarbrook inhaled slowly, the scent of the newly sprung crocuses and daffodils almost overpowering the smell of the liniment soaked bandages wrapped about the stump of his right arm. The services of the finest healers his gold could buy hadn't been enough to save his arm, and while nothing showed upon his face, inside he was incandescent with rage.

The marble columns of his estate's inner courtyard garden cast long shadows as the morning sun crept lazily over the eastern hills. The birds, having migrated north from Stranglethorn where they'd wintered, sang in the budding fruit trees around him. If not for his foul, vengeful mood, it would have been a perfect spring day. The grass rustled behind him faintly, but Havarbrook did not turn.

"Considering my mood, you had better have something useful to report, Sorus." The Lord growled softly and the man behind him bowed with a flourish.

"Sadly, I have only come to confirm what you already know, my Lord." Sorus smirked and leaned casually against the rough, dew moistened trunk of a young pear tree. "Your suspicions were correct." Sorus Naveri would not have stood out in the palace, or anywhere else. There was nothing about the man that drew attention to him. His face was neither ugly nor hansom, his clothing fine enough to elevate him beyond peasant but not rich enough to mark him as a noble. Naveri was wholly unremarkable, making him an excellent spy.

At that, Havarbrook glanced casually over his shoulder "The little bitch certainly has his temper." The girl's grey eyes, somewhat square chin and dark hair had been too much like Wrynn's for her to have no link to him.

"She is Varian's firstborn." Sorus examined his manicured fingernails as he spoke almost lazily. He was not relaying anything Havarbrook did not already know and was somewhat disappointed.

Baen Havarbrook smirked "So, Varian ended up siring an heir on the Dawnstar girl. I'd heard rumours, but never anything anyone would... or could… confirm. He hid her well all these years. With the Silver Hand, I'll assume. He had many friends there, including Arthas." He wanted to cross his arms smugly over this chest, but stopped in mid-gesture when he remembered he was no longer capable of such a simple thing. The balance of politics had suddenly shifted with this new player and Havarbrook was nothing if not an opportunist. In a heartbeat he'd gone from wanting the young woman's head on a pike to scheming something else entirely.

Sorus sighed dramatically and flicked lint only he could see from the shoulder of his double-breasted tunic. "Really, my Lord. Why do you pay my exorbitant retainer fees if you already know the juicy details?"

_Because, if I'm paying you, my peers aren't_ He thought but did not say out loud, though Sorus knew the answer as well. Sorus Naveri was a good spy because he only worked for the highest bidder, and no one bid higher than Havarbrook. "How is the King handling the unpleasantness of last night?"

"The girl has been battling the Scourge in Lordaeron for Light only knows how long. He'll say it's battle stress and she'll not be punished, of course. You, however, will want to send apologies by ten bells this morning for striking the head maid of his household." Sorus shrugged indolently and looked around the garden as though bored. Havarbrook still had not turned to face him, or even deigned to look over his shoulder at the spy. Sorus didn't care, so long as the gold kept flowing.

"That meddling old cow should not have interfered." The Lord muttered and gave a dismissive wave over his shoulder. "Keep your ears open, Sorus. Things are about to get interesting around here for a change." As the spy bowed and took his leave, Havarbrook reflected that his mood had improved immeasurably.

Taliah glared at the door as the sound of a heavy but polite knock came from the other side. Guards had been posted in the corridor outside her door sometime before dawn and it made her unreasonably angry. Everything lately made her angry. The knock sounded again and Gretchen opened the door when it became apparent Taliah wasn't going to invite their guest in.

"Lord Bolvar, please come in." the maid smiled and curtsied as Highlord Fordragon entered. She offered him tea, which he politely declined and when Bolvar gave her a significant look, Gretchen excused herself and slipped out the door. Taliah gave him a quick glance, noting he wasn't armed. She didn't suppose he needed to be – Peacemaker had been confiscated after the incident in the atrium, and Taliah didn't think she would see the sword again anytime soon.

Taliah sat deep in a leather chair near the hearth and did not meet Bolvar's gaze as he looked her over. She expected him to begin a sermon on her lack of self-control, though Taliah admitted grudgingly that it might be warranted. She had maimed an unarmed man and attacked the paladin that had been the object of no small hero-worship on her part, but she was not expecting the compassionate concern in his voice. "Your father is worried for you, Taliah. We all are."

"You don't even know me, Lord Bolvar." The young paladin finally looked up at the tall, green-eyed man without raising her head. While his straight, shoulder length hair was rich chestnut, the beard that hugged his square jaw was ruddy and reminded her more than a little of Joscelin for some reason. "If you've come seeking contrition from me for what happened last night, the only thing I regret is turning steel on you. For that, I apologize." Taliah gave a short, humourless laugh. "As to that fool who's now one extremity short? He's lucky I didn't kill him."

Bolvar's heavy brows drew together at that. "A paladin can never justify the use of excessive force, Taliah. The guards would have been more than able to deal with him for striking Gretchen."

"How?" she laughed coldly "By slapping him on the wrist and telling him he's a bad little noble?" Taliah had no idea why she was so growing so angry, but she rose slowly from the chair, lithe as a hunting cat. "I've made certain he never slaps another 'filthy peasant' is what he said, I believe. I really hope you haven't come to ask me to apologize to the bastard." Bolvar held his ground as the younger paladin stood toe-to-toe with him.

"Actually, Lord Havarbrook sent apologies to King Varian this morning." Fordragon looked down at her unflinchingly though he could feel Taliah's anger and frustration. "You're not on the frontier anymore, Taliah. Things are different here'

"That much is obvious." Came the sarcastic reply "He 'sent' apologies, did he? I'm sure the servant that delivered it was appropriately contrite." She made a disgusted sound when she read the truth of her words on the Highlord's face. "Where I come from, an apology isn't worth a damn unless it's sincere. The only thing that sonofabitch is sorry for is the loss of his arm."

Bolvar couldn't argue her reasoning. Havarbrook had been uncharacteristically understanding, considering the circumstances – he and Varian had both figured on Havarbrook howling for retribution, but it hadn't happened. Fordragon wasn't sure if which he would have preferred. "As far as I'm concerned, the incident is behind us. What has happened cannot be undone and it does no good to keep revisiting it." The subject only seemed to be making Taliah's mood worse and there was nothing to be gained in potentially sparking her temper. Bolvar changed tactics. "How would you like to see the city, my Lady? He asked, keeping his tone somewhat neutral. "I think a ride would do you good."

The young paladin's grey eyes narrowed in suspicion. This was not how she'd wanted to meet the legendary Bolvar Fordragon. In her mind their meeting had been full of soldier's banter and sage words from her hero, not the clash of steel and fury it had been in reality. He was giving her a chance to save a little face, but she was reluctant all the same. "Carriages are for the elderly and people too useless to ride." It had been far to long since she'd sat a good mount and she found herself missing Valiant. Bolvar's lips pulled back in a slight smile.

"My thoughts exactly. I'm sure the royal stables will have something to your liking."

The young paladin strolled down the wide, immaculately swept isle of the royal stables and took in the smells of hay, horses and leather. Removed from the confines of her suites, Taliah had to admit she felt a little better. She had no illusions that Bolvar was a much her keeper as companion but it was nice to see the sun again.

A handsome bay gelding reached out over his stall door to touch her shoulder with his muzzle in a friendly gesture and despite herself, Taliah smiled. She stroked the beasts neck with a calloused hand and felt the muscle ripple beneath taut hide. Lighter than a destrier and with a more refined head than her own Valiant, the bay courser politely checked her shirt pocket for anything edible. Taliah was so enamoured with the animal, she did not see the stable boy as he approached.

"Shall I saddle Cavalier for you, my Lady?" the boy was tall for his fifteen years and handsome in a course, peasant way. The gelding nickered as the boy stroked a hand down his long brown face and the obvious affection the horse had for the boy made her heart ache for Valiant.

"No, it's alright. I'd rather like to do it myself." Taliah replied. The boy looked confused and shrugged as the paladin entered the spacious stall. The stable boy brought Cavalier's tack and Taliah laughed when the beast nearly climbed into the bridle when she offered it. Another stable boy brought a lovely chestnut mare 'round for the Highlord and the two paladins led their mounts from stable. The yard of the mews was just as clean as the stable and the pastures and paddocks were fenced in sturdy oak. Stable boys and grooms went about their business and took no notice of her, though they would offer smiles and polite greetings to Bolvar. Everything was green and growing, the last of the scant snow having melted days before in the warn light of spring.

While Bolvar wore a tunic of sea-blue lambswool under a grey leather jerkin and a heavy wool cloak, Taliah was clad only in a white linen tunic and black kidskin trousers. The southern spring afternoon felt like early summer to her and she'd left her cloak back in the stable. He couldn't help but notice the young paladin's smile as she grabbed a hank of Cavalier's mane and decided to forgo the stirrups, merely giving a sweeping upward kick to throw her leg over the horse's back. She'd done the same thing a million times with Valiant and this Cavalier was not nearly as tall or wide. Not nearly as limber as Taliah, the Highlord put a foot to the mare's stirrup and swung up easily enough. Bolvar chuckled "I could do that… once upon a time."

Taliah let out a long breath and looked sidelong at the Highlord. "I offer my deepest apologies for drawing steel on you last night, Lord Bolvar." She gave a soft, bitter laugh "It's not exactly how I'd hoped to meet a one of the few remaining great founding paladins of the Silver Hand."

Bolvar urged his mount into a walk and Taliah's steed fell in beside him as they left the royal mews. "Taliah, I know what happened at Light's Hope, and I'm sorry for your loss." His words were an obvious offer of compassion and sympathy, but he saw Taliah's jaw set as though she were in agony.

"Necrucian has a big mouth." She replied evenly. "Did he also tell you it was his blade that slew the man I loved?" she was being uncharitable to the deathknight, irked that he would talk about her behind her back. Despite how their association had begun, Necrucian had become her friend, for either good or ill. He was the only friend she had at the moment.

"Yes, he did." People on the teaming streets waved or bowed their heads as the two rode sedately through the throngs that flowed over the cobbles like a sluggish, living river. The smells of a hundred different foods filled the air, as did the voices of the vendors who were selling them. Shops and houses made of wood and stone rose to either side like the walls of an artificial canyon and Taliah was beginning to get a sense of the truly enormous proportions of Stormwind. Bolvar noticed it as well and was concerned. "Are you all right?"

"I didn't know a city like this could exist anymore." She replied, sounding almost sad. "The only settlement of any size left in Lordaeon is Southshore." Taliah felt suddenly overwhelmed by both the city itself and the scope of what had been lost to the Scourge. She had been living so long in what was essentially a dead country that the fact there could actually be a thriving human city of this size was hard to comprehend.

"Stormwind has prospered with King Varian's return." When Taliah gave him an enquiring look, Bolvar told her the tale of the dragon Onyxia's deception and how she had literally split Wrynn into two separate people – one insipid and soft, the other an incendiary brawler who'd ended up in the gladiatorial pits of the Horde. _You have no idea what I've been through the last ten years_ Varian had said to her and Taliah tried not to feel somewhat ashamed of her harsh words to the man. "These are your people too, Taliah." The young paladin, lost in thought, blinked in surprise as Bolvar's words sank in. "You are a trueborn heir of Stormwind and second in line to her throne. The annulment of his marriage to your mother was not Varian's wish – it was the will of the council of nobles and King Terenas. Varian was yet a boy king without a kingdom and subject to the will of House Menethil until he came of age."

"Then I renounce any title the accident of my birth may grant me." Taliah replied coldly. They were still in the busy market district and had to weave between carts, drays and people in the street. She truly did not want to be discussing this in such a public place, but Bolvar looked unconcerned. "Whoever is first in line has my sympathies."

"That would be Anduin, your ten year old brother. He-" A scant hundred feet before them, savage barking heralded the clatter of shod hooves and equine squeals of distressed horses. A huge tan mastiff, its broken chain clattering along behind it, flew after a four-in-hand coach team, panicking the horses. The driver tried valiantly to hold the plunging animals in check, but the wheel-team lunged forward violently, unbalancing the man. Like a chain reaction, the actions of the wheel-team shoved the lead horses forward, only frightening them further and when they too leapt forward, the carriage driver was thrown clear of his elevated seat at the front of the carriage. His yell of dismay as he traversed the empty space between his seat and the street below sent the team of greys off at a plunging gallop.

Bolvar and Taliah's mounts, not trained for more than coursing hounds on a hunt, both spooked violently, plunging and spinning in their own attempt to flee the mayhem of running people. Taliah's bay tried to run while Bolvar's reared and squealed as the runaway coach careened towards them. Both paladins were seasoned horsemen and brought their mounts under control as the enclosed carriage swept by, mowing down a jam maker's cart and sending crocks in all directions to smash against the cobbles. Without thinking, Taliah put heels into Cavalier and spun him hard, giving chase as the carriage bounced along behind the runaway team.

Taliah bent low over Cavalier's neck, hissing at the courser and gouging him with her heels to coax even more speed from the frightened animal. As the shops and people around her passed by in a blur, Taliah watched in horror as the team ran down a pair of city guards who foolishly tried to stop them on foot. She was still a good fifty feet behind the carriage but was gaining slowly. Though only a scant minute or two had passed, it felt like an eternity before Taliah drew up alongside, guiding her mount past the wheel horses and to the left lead horse. The greys were blowing hard and lathered but showed no signs of slowing, and try as she might, Taliah could not get a firm hold on the sweat-slicked bridle. Cursing in the foulest terms she had ever strung together, the paladin kicked free of Cavalier's stirrups leapt at the beast beside her.

Bolvar was in hot pursuit, but despite his best efforts, his courser refused to draw alongside the fishtailing coach. All he could do was watch in horror as Taliah leapt at the left lead horse as her own bay shied away. Instead of landing on the animal's back as she'd intended, Taliah collided with a wet thud against the animal's shoulder. Fordragon's heart leapt into his throat, certain Taliah would roll under the panicked animals and be trampled. Even from his position slightly behind the carriage, he could see her eyes wide with fear as her hands clawed for purchase. Roached as they were, the horses had no manes to grab hold of, but Taliah managed to latch on to the horse's collar and hame. Her feet dragged the cobbles and it took all her strength to jerk her knees up, forward and then down to the street once more, using the horse's forward momentum to vault onto the animal's back. Her face was white, save for the red flush of her cheeks as the paladin wrapped her hands in the lines and hauled back with every ounce of strength she possessed.

"Whoa, Light damn you." Taliah could hear the hammering of her heart even over the clatter of shod hooves on the cobbles but she managed to keep her voice calm only through absolute force of will. With another soothing "Whoa." the careening gallop slowed to a canter and finally a trot. She hazarded a glance over her shoulder to see Bolvar drawing even with the left wheelhorse and getting a hand on its bridle. Blown and dripping sweat, the horses seemed almost grateful when the two paladins finally brought them to a stop. Taliah slumped forward along the grey's neck, nearly as winded as the horses. Their heads hung to their knees and their legs were splayed and trembling as city guards converged and took control of the team. Taliah slid to the ground, soaked in a mix of horse sweat and her own and almost fell on her face. Her hands and knees shook from exertion and adrenalin but thankfully Bolvar caught the young paladin by the arm before she could plant her face in the street.

"Are you injured?" the Highlord asked breathlessly. The hames had struck her a hard blow to the ribs, but she was certain nothing was broken. Taliah let Bolvar help her to her feet and hold her steady.

"I'm fine." She breathed and wiped her face on the torn sleeve of her tunic. Her hands felt warm and sticky and when she held them up curiously, they were crimson and dripping, the team's stylishly thin lines having cut into her the backs and palms of her hands. "Well hell, maybe not." The adrenalin singing in her veins kept the pain at bay, but she knew it wouldn't last. "Were there any passengers inside?" she panted and wiped her bloody hands on her breaches. "I didn't get a chance to look."

"We're a bit shaken." A male voice, nearly as breathless as her own, replied. "But thanks to you, we're alive." A handsome nobleman had his arms about a sobbing woman roughly Taliah's age who clutched a wailing toddler to her. The nobleman was visibly shaken but still managed to retain his dignity. City guards led the team away and commandeered a nearby taxi for the Lord and his Lady wife. Taliah gave a bow of her head and was about to take Cavalier's reins when a guard offered them, but when the paladin looked up the street, she forgot all about them. Her exhaustion suddenly forgotten, she pelted down the street while the spectators lining the streets murmured excitedly and followed.

The guards that had been run down were still in the street being helped by their brethren and civilians alike. One was dead, his helm stove in and his skull crushed by the team's churning hooves, while the other coughed wetly, blood foaming at his lips and Taliah hurried to his side. A man in civilian clothing held the guard close and looked up at the paladin as she staggered and knelt. "The healer's been sent for…" he told her, but the man's grieving blue-green eyes told her _but they won't get here in time_. Taliah lay her bloodied hands upon the dying man's chest and reached out to the Light, beseeching its aid. It came to her call, wrapping her in warmth and peace as she channelled the healing energy into the broken ribs and punctured lungs. She could feel his pulse ebb as Bolvar knelt at her side and felt him draw on the Light and channel into the fallen man as well. The Highlord's presence shone like a beacon in the night and Taliah opened herself fully to the power that coursed through her, sending it to Bolvar to augment his already impressive control. She was vaguely aware of the gasps and excited murmurs about them, but her focus was solely on the dying guard beneath her hands. Slowly, bones knit, organs mended and the guard's breathing grew less laboured. His flagging heartbeat grew stronger and Taliah looked down at him. The man looked shocked and pale, but much more lively than he had only moments ago. The torrent of Light she channelled between herself and Bolvar ceased, leaving her exhausted. The young paladin let out a shuddering breath and slumped, her body trembling from the strain of channelling so much raw energy. Bolvar got to his feet and looked down at the girl in shock. Around them, the people exchanged looks and whispers. He had to get her out of here. "Taliah, can you ride?" She nodded silently and he took her hand to help Taliah to her feet. Her hands were still bloody, but the deep cuts upon them were healed, leaving only reddened skin behind.

Necrucian was reclining on the couch in the suite's living room when she awoke the next morning. He said nothing as he watched Taliah stalk to the table and stuff a pasty into her mouth. Her hands still hurt, but at least the flesh was continuing to heal well.

"Yeah yeah yeah." She waved at him dismissively, speaking around a mouthful of food. "I'm a reckless idiot. I have a deathwish. Blah blah blah." To her irritation the Deathknight merely smirked. "You're really irritating when you do that."

"I'm just in awe of Stormwind's newest hero." He replied with a grin. "The entire city is just abuzz this morning. If you were trying to keep a low profile, you've truly screwed the pooch with your selfless bravery." Necrucian wanted to laugh when the woman gave a frustrated groan. "The Lord you so valiantly rescued went before the Council of Nobles, of which he's a member, and demanded you be rewarded handsomely. They all marched off for an audience with King Varian and well... the ghoul's really out of the grave now."

"What?" Taliah felt as though she were about to vomit. "He didn't…" She felt suddenly trapped for reasons she couldn't explain. All she'd wanted to do was fulfill her duty to Tirion Fordring and head back north. Every day she stayed it was looking more unlikely she would make a clean getaway. Her brawl with both Havarbrook and Fordragon had earned her an armed guard outside her door, and Necrucian wasn't exactly sympathetic to her cause.

"Oh yes, my friend, he did." Necrucian gave her a shrug "They know everything now, ergo the entire Palace probably now knows from whence you sprang. How long did you really think it was going to be a secret?"

"Light damn it, why won't he just let me leave?" her irritation was now verging on rage and Necrucian got off the couch, approaching the paladin and putting his big hands on her shoulders. He'd forgone his armour, having no apparent need for it here. The deathknight was dressed simply, his fine linen leggings and tunic in colours only a few shades off those of the royal house.

"Because like it or not, the man is worried about you, Taliah." The deathknight's pale face was clouded with concern. "Like it or not, the man is your father and contrary to what you apparently believe, he cares what happens to you." He took a good look at her, his bright, glowing eyes taking in the features of her flushed face. "You didn't get any sleep, did you…"

The paladin shrugged off the deathknight's hands and shoved another pastry into her mouth. "I slept some." She muttered and Necrucian rolled his eyes. Before she could call him something rude or question his parentage, there was a knock at the door to her quarters. "Oh for fuck sakes.. Come in." she snapped.

One of the King's Own poked his head through the door as it opened, his lips parted as though about to speak, only to quickly looked away from her. When the paladin looked down at herself, she realized her silken robe was somewhat askew, flashing a generous amount of cleavage. With a roll of her eyes, she pulled it closed. "I'm sorry to disturb you, my lady." The guard cleared his throat "Would you like us to bring in the things from the hall? They're creating quite a clutter."

Taliah looked at the guard, then at the deathknight rather blankly "…Things?"

"It seems your heroics have made you a few admirers." The deathknight told her offhandedly before helping himself to a pastry on the table. Taliah scowled and marched to the door, her bare feet slapping on the cool marble. The guard stepped in and as the door opened wide, Taliah ran a hand down her face. Piled knee high in the corridor outside her door were all manner of gifts and tokens; flowers, sealed parchment letters, preserves and jams, wines, fresh breads, wheels of cheese and roasted or smoked meats. They smells coming from beyond the door were delicious, but Taliah found her appetite gone.

"What the hell is all this?" The dismay in her voice seemed to confuse the guards. She hadn't quite made the door, but she could hear Gretchen murmuring softly to herself as she looked over the mounting tributes.

"It's called 'appreciation', Taliah." Necrucian chuckled and put a hand to her shoulder. "By stopping that runaway you save Lich knows how many lives and shopowners' property. They still made a hell of a mess, from what Bolvar told me, but it could have been much worse."

"I'm no 'hero'." The paladin said the word as though it tasted foul. "I only did what had to be done." Taliah peaked out into the corridor and scowled at Gretchen. "Is there an orphanage in this accursed city?"

Gretchan's brow knit "Yes, my Lady." The maid held an immense, lovely bouquet of blood-red roses in her arms. "These will look beautiful in your sitting room. You've made quite an impression on the city, my Lady. Talk of your bravery has probably reached Northshire by now."

Taliah let out a long breath as she tried to calm herself. "Be so kind as to see that any and all appropriate foodstuffs make their way to the orphanage. I've no need of it but I'll not see it go to waste. You." She pointed at the guard who had knocked on her door. "Get this booze out of here before I'm tempted to drink myself blind. Give it to the garrison or something, though if I hear anyone was drunk on duty, there'll be hell to pay." Taliah turned abruptly and stabbed a finger at the other guard "And you. Clatter off and tell His Royal Highness I want to talk with him. Now."

"With all due respect my Lady, I cannot leave my post." The guard she'd tried to turn messenger replied coolly and crossed his arms over the polished steel breastplate he wore.

"Bugger your post, Scale." Taliah snapped "How much damage could I possibly cause with no sword and clad in a bathrobe? I can't even get out of my pretty little prison for all the shit in the corridor!" She took a long, awkward step over an accumulation of gift baskets and went toe-to-toe with the guard who looked down his oft-broken nose at her. "You'll go deliver my message, and you'll do it smartly, or I _will_ see how much damage I can do with no sword and clad in a bathrobe. Are we clear?"

Necrucian reached out and spun Taliah around, pulling her back into the suite. "It's all right Erington. I'll make sure she doesn't break anything that can't be easily replaced." The guard gave the deathknight a look as though to say 'your funeral, pal' before trotting off and Necrucian closed the door behind him. "This is ridiculous." He stated flatly "You need help."

She turned on him, teeth bared "There's nothing wrong with me! I am a weapon, and I'm going to rust here. They're keeping me confined and I haven't done anything wrong! All I want is to go back home and do what it is I was trained for."

"Are you listening to yourself?" Necrucian approached her without fear and Taliah tensed, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "There is _nothing_ left for you in the Plaguelands. The Argent Dawn has joined with Fordring and they're probably already half way to Northrend. I'm convinced half the reason Tirion sent you on this damn mission was so that he wouldn't have to worry about you doing something stupid and getting yourself or others killed."

"How dare you!" Taliah roared. Tears came unbidden and spiked her dark lashes as she took a swing at him. Necrucian had been expecting it and jerked his chin away from her flying fist. The deathknight grabbed her wrist as she let fly again and then the other when she levelled a left-handed blow to his midsection. "Let me go, you sonofabitch!" The deathknight took both her wrists in one hand and slammed the paladin against the wall, knocking the wind from her as his free hand clamped around her jaw. Necrucian crushed her against the cold marble until she stopped squirming.

"I can't take back what I did." Necrucian spoke slowly as though to a child. He was angry and frustrated and it showed. "There isn't a day that goes by what I don't wish it had been me laying in the mud and not Joscelin to spare you this pain, but I _can't_ change what happened." Taliah's grey eyes grew fierce and he could feel the muscles in her jaw clench as he teeth ground together. "You know what's waiting for you back 'home', girl?" The deathknight's eyes burned in their sockets. "Nothing. No lover, no country, no comrades. The only thing you'll find in the Plaguelands is death - your own."

"So be it!" she snarled. "What exactly do I have left to live for? Thomas? He's better off with my mother. Valiant? He'll live a life of luxury and die of old age in a warm stall instead of in agony. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't wish you'd had the balls to put your ugly sword through my guts." The slap was sound and while it was not brutal, it was enough to make her ears ring.

"Never say that again, you hear me?" Necrucian's voice was a low growl and his index finger hovered warningly in her face as though daring her to defy him. "There is life after loss, Taliah. Mourn him and let him go. Say your goodbyes and it will be easier to move on."

"Is that how you can live with yourself after killing your wife?" Taliah shot back and regretted it immediately. The hand at her jaw tightened to the point she though he would crush it but after a long moment he simple released her. The deahtknight's eyes burned bright in a mixture of fury and pain as he turned away and stalked across the room. Without a word he left, slamming the door behind him hard enough to crack the polished oak. Taliah's hand went to her bruised jaw as she slid down the wall to sit upon the floor. Her knees drew up to her chest and she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Five.**

After her exchange with Necrucian, the paladin had thrown on a tunic and breaches and fled her quarters. It hadn't taken long to get lost within the labyrinth of corridors but after an hour of dodging guards, Taliah had found what looked like a small, private park. By the time she'd come to the pond, Taliah had lost the will to keep running.

The heavy rain chilled her to the bone. It plastered her black hair to her skull, but the paladin didn't care. The air was chilled with humidity and by the look of the dark clouds in the late afternoon sky, it wasn't going to stop raining anytime soon. Taliah sat in the grass on the edge of the pond, her chin resting upon her knees while her arms encircled her folded legs.

The paladin stared blankly at the rippling surface of the water feeling lost. In her anger, Taliah had struck out at Necrucian and when she had been unable to hurt the deathknight physically, she'd lashed out at him verbally with unwanton cruelty. Necrucian had saved her life as many times as she'd saved his, and Taliah had repaid him with spite.

She was fighting a losing battle with herself and like a wounded beast, desperate for an end to the pain, it was making her lash out at everyone around her. Taliah buried her face in her hands, the roiling tumult of her seemingly endless torment finally cresting, as though it were an immense, unstoppable wave of misery that threatened to consume her utterly. Her jaw began to ache and she breathed like something had her in an iron grip about the throat. The stress of this place and her brush with death the day before only added to her already deep depression and the effort to control her inner turmoil was just too much to deal with anymore. Her teeth were clenched and grinding as she struggled to crush down every emotion that demanded release. The pain of Joscelin's death had finally become too terrible to bear, and the profound sense of loss verged on driving her mad. The paladin's hands shook and her short nails dug into the skin of her forehead to drag reddened lines down her pale face. Taliah threw back her head as an almost animal howl of anguish and despair ripped from her throat.

"Why?" She howled, looking to the overcast heavens. Anger and frustration turned instantly into rage the paladin could no longer control. "Why didn't you warn me sooner? I could have helped him! WHY DIDN'T YOU PROTECT HIM! I did what you asked of me and it left me to weak to save him! WHY?" Taliah glared up at the sky, demanding an answer that didn't come. She climbed to her feet, her toes digging into the soft earth as she shook with fury. She wanted to rend and tear at something, anything, and when the paladin heard the heavy tread of footsteps upon the wet ground behind her, she turned and lashed out unthinkingly.

Taliah was quick and stronger than she looked and when her blows landed, they hurt. He made no attempt to counter or put her on the defensive, only blocking and dodging, weathering the tempest of her wrath in eerie silence. Necrucian's stony, pale face did not change expression as the paladin launched herself at him and tried to beat him into the ground. He was certain it wasn't actually _him_ she was attacking, hell he was certain that in her almost mindless rage Taliah didn't even know it _was_ him. Truth be told, he'd expected her to snap at some point – there was only so much inner torment a person could endure and wondered why it had taken her so long to finally break.

"Fight, damn you!" She snarled as her fists flew in a brutal one-two combination that nearly caught Necrucian in the belly and face. "Hit me!"

"No." the deathknight replied dispassionately. Necrucian had been furious with her and more than a little hurt by the paladin's earlier words, but seeing her like this, tormented to the point she had finally lost control, had turned that anger to pity. He ducked and wove, blocking most of her strikes and backing away from the angry woman so that they ended up circling the large pond a half dozen times. Taliah screamed at him in frustration, redoubling her efforts and as their belligerent dance continued the paladin's strength began to flag. She steamed like a lathered horse in the rain and her strikes became slower and clumsier. When she levelled a ham-handed blow at his face, Necrucian caught her by one wrist and then the other when she tried to pull free.

"Let me go!" she screamed and her voice to broke. Taliah struggled against the deathknight's iron grip but she could not free herself. Necrucian's grasp tightened as she threw herself backwards, twisting and jerking violently while her bare feet churned the sodden grass beneath them into mud.

"No." was the only reply she got as Necrucian pulled her to him and put his arms around her. Taliah snarled and pummelled at him ineffectively for a long moment, unwilling to surrender until the fatigue and cold were finally too much and all she could do was cry. Her body shook with terrible, wracking sobs as her hands tore at the back of the deathknight's sodden tunic and she howled her despair and anguish against his chest.

"It was my fault!" Her voice broke as she let out a tortured scream. "IT WAS MY FAULT! I should have fought harder to stay with him when they came at us. He's dead because of me! He gave me everything… protected me… loved me… and I FAILED HIM."

"We were ten thousand against your three hundred, Taliah." Necrucian cradled the girl's head gently but firmly to his chest. "We were legion at Mograine's back and he sent wave upon wave to break your defences. There was _nothing_ you could have done." The paladin sobbed in his arms, still clutching at the back of his tunic as though she feared some unseen tide would drag her out to sea.

As he continued his search for Taliah, Varian and a quartet of trailing guards had been near the gates of his private park when he'd heard the terrible screams over the rain. "Find her!" Wrynn barked, fearing the girl was doing harm to herself and they scoured the park at a run, fearing to find the paladin injured as the howls continued. The search party burst through the trees, but slid to a halt as they reached the pond. Even through the driving rain, he could see Taliah's shoulders shaking in sobs, her face buried into Necrucian's chest. The deathknight's arms held her in a protective embrace and when his eyes met the King's, Necrucian gave a subtle shake of his head, warning them to come no closer. Taliah didn't even seem to be aware of anything beyond her grief and had taken no notice. Seeing her in such obvious distress was difficult but Varian silently motioned for the guards to leave and after a long moment, Wrynn withdrew as well.

Taliah could barely breathe for the tightness in her throat and chest. Every breath seemed to hitch in her lungs until she'd cried herself dry and screamed herself hoarse. "There is no shame in grief, Taliah." Necrucian stroked a hand through her tangled, matted hair. "Joscelin was a lucky man to have someone who loved him so fiercely and if he was even half the man I've come to believe he was, it would pain him to see you suffering like this." The deathknight's eerie, hollow voice was compassionate. "Mourn him, but let him go. The pain will fade in time, Taliah. Carry his memory with you, but don't blame yourself for that which you could not prevent." There was a long pause before he continued "_That_ is how I live with myself…"

"I'm so sorry, Necrucian." Taliah felt sick with shame. "Please forgive me. I had no right to say something so cruel." She felt his chin come to rest upon the crown of her head.

"You are forgiven, paladin." The deathknight replied quietly. Taliah's fingers ached fiercely and she had difficulty opening her hands to release Necrucian's rain soaked tunic. Her arms went about him as she closed her eyes in exhaustion.

"You've been a better friend to me than I've been to you, deathknight." She told him regretfully. Taking a deep breath, Taliah tilted her head to look the big man in the eye. "I…" she let out the breath slowly "I forgive you, Necrucian. Joscelin's death was no more your fault than it was mine." It was one thing to finally hear her say it, but he could see that she truly wanted to let go of the hate and pain that had been so much a part of her since that terrible day in the Plaguelands.

"Thank you." Necrucian's shoulders slumped every so slightly as though a giant weight had been lifted from them. The deathknight could feel the woman shivering with cold and he finally, if slowly, released her. "We should get you out of the rain…"

She looked back towards the palace as though in defeat and nodded, suffering herself to be led back to her quarters. The paladin was trembling, her normally pale skin gone white and her lips tinged blue with cold. Gretchen sent one of the guards to the kitchens for soup and tea while she scrambled to run a hot bath. A physician was summoned and Taliah was shockingly compliant when ordered to down a strong smelling herbal concoction to keep any respiratory sickness away. He cleaned the abrasions on her forehead and cheeks and advised rest and plenty of food for the next few days. Necrucian waited in the sitting room while Gretchen fussed over Taliah in the bath and inclined his head when Varian slipped into the suite.

"How is she?" there was obvious concern in the man's voice. The king looked tired and he ran a hand down his scarred face. "When I heard the screaming, I thought she was dying."

"She was." Necrucian told him flatly. "I don't think it would have been long before the grief she carried would have made her do something… rash… simply to end the pain." He looked back towards the closed door of the bedchamber. "Perhaps now she can finally begin to heal."

As the deathknight walked past, Varian put a hand to the man's shoulder. "You love her, don't you." There was no accusation in his words. Necrucian stopped and regarded him evenly. The two men were silent for a long moment, each taking the measure of the other.

Necrucian indicated his dripping clothing. "If you will excuse me your Majesty, I will retire before Gretchen comes after me with a mop." When Wrynn nodded and the deathknight saw himself out, Varian was certain he knew the answer.

A week passed and for the first time since Joscelin's death, Taliah's sleep was not plagued by nightmares. The flood of tears seemed as though it had purged her heart of the unendurable pain she had been holding close for so long. It was not gone entirely – only time would heal that wound, but it had gone from something that threatened to destroy her to a dull ache the paladin could tolerate without feeling like she wanted to die.

Breakfast was waiting out in the receiving room when she awoke and Gretchen began hinting that perhaps Taliah should speak Wrynn. The paladin rolled her eyes and pulled out a chair to tuck into her breakfast when a polite rap at the door stopped her in mid-sit.

Since the rainy day in the park where she had cried herself hoarse in his arms, the deathknight had been markedly absent. Considering the mission that had brought the two unlikely companions to Stormwind in the first place, Taliah guessed Necrucian was busy with more martial duties than keeping her amused. It didn't make her feel any less lonely though. Gretchen was a sweet woman who tried to help the paladin adapt to her new circumstances, but the two women had nearly nothing in common.

Gretchen waved at her to sit and eat and when the maid opened the door to see who was calling, Taliah half hoped to hear Necrucian's hollow baritone. The voice from without, however, was not the deathknight's but still vaguely familiar though Taliah could not put a face to it.

"I was told Lady Taliah was residing here." The voice was male, polite and while refined, it was not arrogant or pretentious. "I would beg an audience if she would speak with me." The paladin watched as the maid shifted uncomfortably. A raven brow rose and Taliah's grey eyes were slits of suspicion as Gretchen cast an uneasily glance over her shoulder. The paladin's morbid curiosity was piqued. Taliah could not mentally conjure up any scenario short of an apocalypse what would make the old harpy fidgety so she motioned an increasingly anxious Gretchen from the door. The maid stepped back reluctantly and let the door open wide, revealing a striking man of about thirty clad in the duty uniform of the Stormwind Calvary. The look on Taliah's face was clearly 'who the hell are you' for a moment until she recognized his blue-green eyes. "You were the one helping the wounded guard the day of the runaway."

"Aye, my Lady." The man smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. Athletically built, the man cut a dashing figure in his black, blue and silver uniform. Tall black boots, scuffed from use and adorned with silver spurs complimented the gold-hilted sabre in a battered black scabbard that road his hip. The two golden pips upon his collar marked him as a captain. "You may be pleased to know that the man you saved will make a full recovery, given time. He's still rather weak from loss of blood, but the physicians say he will be able to return to duty within the month."

"Well…" Taliah wasn't sure why the captain of a Cavalry regiment was updating her on the status of a wounded city guard. She was even less sure of why Gretchen was fidgeting with her apron behind the door as though she were about to call for help. "I'm glad he will recover fully. I thank you for the news, Captain.. uh.."

"Forgive my rudeness, my Lady." The Captain suddenly looked as though he wanted to kick himself and bowed. "Captain Kalvyn Havarbrook of His Majesty's Twelth Cavalry regiment." He said but his smile faded when Taliah's face went from curious to stony and he guessed why. "And yes, I would be Lord Havarbrook's son though I beg that you not hold that against me."

"So you're aware that I'm the reason your Lord father will only be counting to five from now on, unless of course he uses his toes." She replied icily but the Captain's lips quirked in a tight smile.

"You didn't do anything I haven't wanted to do for _years_." The captain's face grew more serious "I bear you no ill will for it." Gretchen seemed to relax when Taliah's near hostility eased into merely aloof.

Taliah's arms crossed over her chest and while her tone was not suspicious, it wasn't exactly friendly either. "You'll have to forgive my mistrustful nature Captain, but why have you really come here?"

It was the Captain's turn to fidget and Taliah got the impression most women weren't usually this standoffish with him. "I have never felt the Light's presence so strongly as I did that day. It was…" He seemed to be searching for the right words "…remarkable. Despite your own injuries, you stopped to save a man you didn't even know. I was moved by your selflessness. His wife asked me to convey her gratitude."

"I only did what had to be done." She echoed her earlier words to Necrucian. "Risking one life to save many isn't a hard choice." Taliah told him flatly.

"If only more people thought so." Captain Havarbrook cleared his throat and pulled at the collar of his uniform tunic. "I'm sorry to have disturbed your morning meal my Lady, and I thank you for speaking with me. Would…" The horse soldier cleared his throat as though it had suddenly gone dry. "…would it be acceptable to call upon you again?"

Taliah looked at him blankly before blinking as though her head hurt "Please… call me Taliah. All this courtly formality makes my brain bleed." The somewhat surprised look on the Captain's face made the paladin mentally smirk.

"Very well, Taliah." The man's smile returned. "I'm sorry to say that the regiment is mustering in two days for a month-long patrol of the Lakeshire province, but I do hope you will stay in our fair city awhile." Havarbrook gave her a gallant smile and offered his hand. Somewhat reluctantly, the paladin took it in a firm grip to find his hand was just as calloused as her own. She was expecting a warrior's handshake and almost pulled away when he bent over it and placed a gentle kiss upon the scarred knuckles. As Captain Havarbrook straightened once more, he gave Taliah a charming smile and left without another word. As he departed Gretchen closed the door behind him with a relieved sigh.

It took the paladin a moment to recover from the shock. Rubbing a hand over her face, she glanced at the maid. "What?" Taliah scowled "Did you think I was going to heave him through a wall for being the son of the bastard that slapped you?" When Gretchen pursed her lips primly and raised a greying brow, the paladin shrugged. "Ok, I would have if he'd been an ass, but that's not the point."

"Captain Havarbrook is a fine gentleman and a highly decorated officer." Gretchen tapped a finger to her lips absentmindedly as Taliah finally sat down to breakfast. She looked up at the ceiling as though suddenly deep in thought.

"Good for him." Taliah muttered around a mouthful of food. "He's also the son of a man I wouldn't piss on if he were on fire in front of me." Gretchen gave her a scathing look and clucked her tongue in disgust. Taliah pointed her fork at the woman as though in warning. "Don't start. I'm in a good-ish mood. Don't ruin it."

"Really, my Lady." Gretchen chastised "You've been in Stormwind almost a fortnight and you've yet to leave your suites since the day you ran off. Your door is no longer under guard. Why not have a look around?"

Taliah stopped in mid-chew and her expression clearly belied the fact she'd though Gretchen had lost her mind. "You seem to be forgetting the last three times I 'had a look around'." She counted them off on her fingers as though to remind the woman "Lopped git's arm. Almost killed by runaway. Tried to gaud my only friend into a fight and got hypothermia."

Gretchen gave her a kind look "I won't say it's been easy for you here, child." She sat across from Taliah and ladled her a bowl of porridge. "Taliah, you may not have his name, but you are a Wrynn by blood. Stormwind is your kingdom, her citizens are your people and after the bravery you showed, the King has had no shortage of requests from the Council of Nobles to have you formally introduced to them and presented at court."

"No." Taliah's mood darkened immediately "I am not some trick pony to be trotted out and made to perform. The Council can go bugger themselves for all I care." It gave the paladin no small guilty pleasure to see Gretchen wince at her tern of phrase.

"King Varian will need the Council's support if he is to go to war." Gretchen stood from the table in frustration. "He is the King, but the Council is the purse strings of the Kingdom. Without their support, there is no war. If we are in as much danger as Highlord Bolvar fears, it seems a little thing to go before the Council -"

"Out." Taliah growled when she saw the conversation heading into the same guilt-trip territory that Tirion Fordring had used to get her to Stormwind in the first place. The maid fell silent, pushed in her chair and gave a sarcastic curtsey before leaving. The paladin shoved away from the table, her appetite gone. Gretchen was right, and it made Taliah want to chew nails.


	6. Chapter 6

**Six.**

The park was much more pleasant this time around and just as deserted. The sun was bright, warming the air though the breeze that rustled the leaves was pleasantly cool. Birds sang cheerfully and flitted from the branches, but none of them looked familiar to her and Taliah found it curious that the vegetation looked as though it were in full summer bloom. She thought herself alone, but when she reached the large pond, a small boy sat upon the edge, dangling his feet into the water. Fat, lazy carp in a dazzling array of colours clustered about his submerged feet begging for handouts. She hadn't noticed the fish the last time she'd come here, but she'd been in no state of mind to sightsee at the time. He turned to look curiously over his shoulder, clearly expecting someone else, but he gave her a friendly smile all the same.

"Hello." The boy was polite enough, but not nearly as cheerful as the birds. He was a handsome lad with golden hair and guileless eyes the colour of the clear spring sky. Clad in simple but finely made clothing, the boy was obviously a nobleman's son. The lad was perhaps ten, and Taliah cast a glance about, looking for a parent or minder. The boy looked about as well, as though thinking perhaps Taliah had seen something. "Is something wrong?" 

"Well…no." The paladin admitted hesitantly "I just didn't expect anyone to be here." She had been seeking solitude and had considered leaving, but though the boy was trying his best to hide it, he was obviously unhappy. Taliah approached in concern. "Are you alright, love?"

The boy shrugged his narrow shoulders reluctantly "My father is sad, and I don't know how to make him happy again." He looked up at the paladin as she sat next to him. "Here." The boy offered her a piece of bread crust and managed a smile "They'll eat right from your hand. I taught them." He told her proudly. Breaking off a small piece she leaned towards the water and offered it to an iridescent purple fish the length of her forearm. The carp sucked the morsel greedily from her fingers as three other fish began to crowd about him. Taliah pulled off her boots and woollen socks and plunked her feet into the cool water. The feel of the fish occasionally brushing against her bare feet was a little disconcerting at first, but after the bread was gone, the fish dispersed. The boy seemed to realize she was trying to cheer him and he gave her a grateful smile.

"What's made your father sad, son?" Taliah asked kindly. The boy's blunt innocence reminded her so much of Thomas, safe back in Southshore with her mother and it made her realize how much she missed him.

"My sister won't talk with him." The boy shrugged and waved his feet gently around in the water. "I don't think she likes him for some reason. He won't say why." Taliah's mouth felt suddenly dry but her outward expression didn't change. "He told me she's a paladin like my uncle, but I thought paladins were supposed to be nice. Why would she want to make him sad?"

It took a lot to make Taliah feel like a jackass, but the boy had managed to do it in just a couple of sentences. The paladin didn't know how to respond and scratched at the back of her neck uncomfortably "Maybe he did something to hurt her first?" Her grudge against Wrynn suddenly sounded so childish and Taliah wondered at exactly what point in her life had she become so petty.

"I dunno." The boy admitted with a shrug "Father said I wasn't old enough to know the whole story, only that he was married when he was really young to a girl who was pretty and kind, but when King Terenas found out, the old king had the girl sent away and wouldn't let Father see her again." The boy's brow furrowed and he looked up at Taliah "People say Terenas was a good king though. Why would he do something so mean?"

"Because the fate of an entire kingdom was at stake." Taliah was startled and nearly fell into the pond when Varian Wrynn spoke from behind her. The boy rose and smiled, embracing his father. He looked up at Varian with obvious adoration and then blinked and turned to regard Taliah as though suddenly realizing who she might actually be. There was more than a passing resemblance between the King and the paladin and the lad's mouth opened as a million questions flashed over his face. "Anduin, you'd better hurry and change your clothes or you'll be late for your lessons." Taliah couldn't help but stifle a chuckle as she saw the boy wanting to protest. He gathered up his shoes and with a long last look over his shoulder, the boy disappeared down the path between the trees.

Taliah got to her feet and brushed breadcrumbs from her breaches. "He's a sweet boy." An angry little voice in the back of her mind wanted to add all manner of cruel things to the sentence, but it was no longer as loud or insistent as it had once been.

"He takes after his mother." Wrynn said through a dry chuckle. "Tiffin and I didn't even know each other when we got married, but she was a kind, compassionate woman. For better or worse, Anduin inherited his mother's gentle spirit. He's been pestering me for a week to meet you, every since he heard about the runaway carriage, but considering all you'd been through I thought it would be best to give you some space." Varian offered his hand and looked cautiously hopeful. "Will you walk with me?" Taliah bit her lip as though undecided before reaching out and Wrynn pulled her easily to her feet.

He offered his arm and the paladin took it reluctantly. The two walked in silence for a long time as Varian led her through a copse of silver birches that led to the most beautiful rose garden Taliah had ever seen. The flowers were in full bloom, their rich scent filling the air with a heavy but pleasant perfume that disburse on the breeze. "Do you like it?" He asked hopefully "I had it modeled after the rose garden where Tetyana and I would spend hours talking. I had Lady Proudmoore enchant the park, so that the plants would bloom as though it were perpetually early summer, no matter what the actual season."

Taliah looked about her and inhaled deeply. The scent of the roses was heady and calming. They bloomed thick upon their stems, ranging in scale thumbnail to fist-sized blooms of every conceivable colour and everything was tended with both expertise and love. "It's magnificent." She replied, her fingers gently stroking the petals of a glorious pink bloom. "I've never seen anything like it." After living the Plaguelands, this place was paradise.

"I was a boy king without a kingdom and your mother was kind to me at a time when it seemed everyone else around me was scheming and positioning for power." Varian looked up at the cloudless sky as he gave voice to his memories as they strolled deeper into the magnificent garden. "Everyone wanted something from me. Everyone but her." A bench carved of a single marble block accentuatd the center of the garden and Varian took a seat, inviting the paladin to do likewise. The tranquility of the place was nearly overwhelming and Taliah could do little more than stare as she sat beside him. "All Tetyana wanted was to be my friend. She didn't care that I was heir to Stormwind's throne. When she was forced to leave, I didn't know she was with child. Had I, things would have ended differently." Much taller than the paladin, Varian looked down at her, his scarred face a picture of regret. "And had I known what would befall Lordaeron, I never would have had you fostered with the Silver Hand." He gave a despairing laugh "I thought at best you'd get the finest education available, at worst that you'd joined the priesthood. When Lordaeron fell, I feared you were dead or worse." There were tears in his eyes and Taliah was beginning to regret every terrible thought she'd ever had about the man. "I'm sorry if you felt abandoned, Taliah. Before Anduin was born, there were plots afoot to do you harm. There was no other way I could protect you and yet not draw attention to you or throw Stormwind into chaos."

"Had you not sent me with Uther, I never would have met Joscelin." She felt her own tears spike her black lashes. "Though his death was the hardest thing I've ever had to endure, the few years we spent together were worth the pain of losing him." Taliah wiped at her eyes and laughed softly "Ironically, it took the words of a deathknight for me to realize it."

"Your mother and I enjoyed a few months of wedded bliss before they tracked us down. Apparently the priest who married us wasn't as drunk and I'd thought." The breeze picked up and a single large cloud passed overhead, cloaking the garden in gentle shadow for a long moment. "When I finally managed to discover where your mother had been sent, I was eighteen, newly a man, leading an army south to reclaim my kingdom and betrothed to some nobleman's daughter I'd never met. I stole away from the encampment the morning of our arrival and sought Tetyana out and when I found the cottage, her father was feeding the chickens and you were at her breast." A smile pulled at his lips and he held out his hands as though holding something fragile. "You were so small. I was afraid I might hurt you when Tetyana put you in my arms. You were only a few months old but you had a mop of black hair and a hell of a pair of lungs. In the end, I begged her to come with me, but she refused."

"Mother was always sensible." Without the pain and resentment, things were much more clear to her "Had she gone with you, the nobles would have revolted." Taliah shook her head in wonder. "Still, not many would have declined that offer."

"She put the needs of the people before her own." Varian gave her a proud smile. "I see that same selfless bravery in you." He put an arm around her and gave the paladin's shoulder a squeeze. "Bolvar was impressed by your courage."

Taliah laughed "Courage? When I jumped that damn horse shied, I was clawing at that harness like a drowning cat." The paladin mimed her words, her arms flailing and fingers scrabbling, her mouth open as though in a rictus of terror. Wrynn laughed at her black humour and Taliah wiped a tear of mirth from her eye. "Gavinrad would always tell me that 'courage isn't the absence of fear, it is the mastery of it', but to be honest, I was so afraid of getting my brains dashed out on the street I don't remember much of anything between the jump and helping the wounded guard."

"I heard the tributes the people brought you the next day nearly filled the hall outside your quarters." The sun was climbing to its zenith and the air was growing a little warmer. "You made quite a first impression on the people of Stormwind."

After a long, awkward silence, the paladin let out a sigh and cleared her throat. "I can't find it in my heart to hate you anymore, your Majesty." She admitted reluctantly. "I always assumed I was a bastard you hid away out of shame, but I've come to see that wasn't the case. I hope you can forgive my angry words when I first arrived." When Wrynn told here there was nothing that need be forgiven, Taliah held up a hand "Look, I know where this is all eventually going, your Majesty. If it will help light a fire under the Council to start seriously talking about taking the fight to Arthas, I will speak with them. But I tell you now, I will not be trotted out for the Court to snicker and point at. Last time it happened, someone lost an arm." She seemed to consider something and then scowled gently. "And that reminds me - I want my sword back."

Varian suppressed a wince and sighed "Considering the Council has been badgering me with requests to formally present you, I don't think anyone will be making light of you." When Taliah was clearly sceptical, Wrynn laughed. "But you can have the runeblade back _afterwards_, provided you don't start a civil war."

Taliah made a sour face. "I make no promises."


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven.**

Koltira Deathwhisper took a knee before the throne, a thing as dark, twisted and terrible as the woman that sat upon it, and wished he were any place but here. He remembered well Sylvanas Windrunner before Arthas marched his undead army to the gates of Silvermoon. She had been a doughty, courageous general in life, possessing the ability to inspire her rangers in the face of overwhelming odds and it appeared that not much had changed. Her new minions, the Forsaken undead that now controlled Terenas Menethil's old kingdom, seemed positively worshipful of their 'Queen'. Koltira however, was not Forsaken and found this new incarnation of the woman he once idolized to be truly disturbing.

"Please Koltira, rise." Sylvanas gestured languidly with long fingers. She sat upon her throne as though ready to enjoy a night of relaxation. Her long, supple legs were crossed at the knee and her elevated foot bounced in a slow, almost playful rhythm that made the bloodelf deathknight wary. Slowly, Koltira rose to stand before the self-proclaimed Banshee Queen, his still handsome if pale-grey face betraying nothing. He had been tasked with a similar duty as Necrucian had been; to deliver news of the Lich King's defeat and the cleansing of the Ashbringer to the Horde. His guide Eitrigg had led him to the Undercity and helped him gain access to a portal to Orgrimmar to deliver a satchel of reports from both Mograine and Fordring. Why he had been called back to this wretched place, he did not know and from the cold smile Sylvanas was favouring him with, Koltira decided he probably wasn't going to like it when he found out. "I'm sure you remember the battle of Light's Hope?"

Considering he'd been at Mograine's right hand during the battle, as detailed in his own report, it seemed a pointless question. "Of course, Dark Lady." Koltira wasn't about to call her 'my' anything, so he settled for something that sounded polite. The Banshee Queen's eyes narrowed so subtlety that most would not have noticed, but the deathknight did and knew he would have to watch his tongue.

"I have not seen the reports myself, only heard rumours and such, and I was curious about a few aspects of what transpired that day." Again she favoured him with that cold, calculating smile. Two Forsaken stood at a polite distance to either side of the throne. The one to the left was male, clad in leather armour of mingled black and forest green. His sickly yellow eyes glowed from under the hood of his cowl and he regarded the deathknight with distrust as he fingered the hilts of the daggers that rode his hips. To the right was a female dressed in dusty grey robes. Her face had been pretty once, before death and then undeath had turned the flesh grey and the worms had eaten away most of her cheeks and brow. The Forsaken woman held an old leather-bound tome to her chest, as would a schoolgirl, with partially skeletal hands. Her expression was eager and she watched Koltira as though he might do something incredibly interesting at any moment. "Specifically, the cleansing of Ashbringer."

One of Koltira's brows, long and elegantly tapered like a tail feather of a pheasant, rose and he licked his upper lip, a habit from his previous life he'd been unable to rid himself of. He thought carefully before speaking. "Highlord Mograine threw the sword to Fordring and it was cleansed by the Light."

Sylvanas' long archer's fingers tented before her lips. "Be so kind as to describe, in _detail_, the cleansing of a sword so corrupted it was nearly as terrible as Frostmourn." Her fingernails tapped and the woman to her right only seemed to grow more eager.

"The Ashbringer came to Fordring's hand, a shaft of radiance broke through the foul, clouded sky like a column of sunlight, and the sword was renewed, as was Fordring's strength, and he was able to repel the Lich King's assault. Perhaps it _was_ a column of pure Light that he called down. It burned the vary air in my lungs and I had to shield my eyes against it." Koltira shrugged and his plate armour rattled with the gesture. The woman to Sylvanas' right looked as though she would burst with excitement. "Whatever it was, it was enough to restore Ashbringer and sever the Lich King's control over the undead that were present."

"And the look on Fordring's face?" the Banshee Queen leaned forward just slightly as though anticipating the answer.

"He looked…" Koltira stroked the small, triangular patch of facial hair below his blue-grey lower lip. He had no idea what Sylvanas was playing at and it had him worried, but he could see no harm in answering such a seemingly inane question. "He looked… surprised." The answer seemed to please the Banshee Queen, so much so the smile she wore pulled back her dark lips and showed a little of her still white, perfect teeth.

"Thank you, Koltira." She murmured. "You've been most helpful." Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, the deathknight bowed and retreated from the audience chamber.

Beside her throne, the Forsaken woman in robes nearly bounced in place "I knew it!" She grinned and the desiccated flesh about her mouth wrinkled appallingly. "Leonid Barthalomew said much the same thing, only that Tirion wasn't the only one that looked surprised. Whatever happened, those who could wield the Light felt it and said later it was like a great surge of power."

To the left of the throne, Kormak snorted and rolled his eyes "My Lady, you don't think that _girl_ is the cause of this, do you?" He was thoroughly unconvinced "I put her down easily enough."

"And yet she somehow managed to get herself rescued by the garrison in Southshore." Kormak shrank back when Sylvanas' crimson eyes flicked balefully in his direction. "You had the daughter of Stormwind's king and were unable to hold her." Sylvanas had taken time to read and re-read the entire inventory of Morgraine's reports captured from Necrucian, as well as the letters of introduction written in Fordring's hand and baring his seal. The fact that her forces had acquired leverage against Stormwind and then let it slip through their fingers had been… irritating.

Kormak lowered his head submissively, trying to avoid the Banshee Queen's wrath. His downcast eyes and bowed head seemed to placate Sylvanas, if only a little. "I tried to find the spy who alerted the garrison, but I could find no evidence of one." The rogue sounded almost as frustrated as Sylvanas felt.

"Fool." The female hissed at Kormak "It was the Light that warned them, I'm sure of it! You said that the old paladin Raleigh led them." Sara Vilaston looked eagerly to her queen. "Southshore had never before attacked Tarren Mill, nor seemed inclined to ever do so, but they suddenly show up when the Dawnstar girl is prisoner? There are too many coincidences." Sara smiled as though in triumph "We are fortunate that some of the books from the royal library were saved my Lady, or I might never have made the connection." Her skeletal fingers lovingly stroked the ancient tome she held. It bore the title _Erest Hanur Ofidiay Talos Melianir_.

"Kormak?" Sylvanas didn't even look at him and he feared the warning in her soft elven voice "How are you going to rectify this failure?" Again her fingernails clicked rhythmically before her lips and Kormak was sure that if it has still been possible, he would have soiled himself.

"There was a child, a boy, traveling with the paladin and the deathknight." Kormak recalled and Sylvanas finally turned to look at him curiously. "They found it at the settlement we razed. The paladin was very protective of the boy. He might still be in Southshore."

Sylvanas sat back upon her throne and smiled with all the cheer of a bleak winter morn. "Then I suggest you find out."

Baen Havarbrook relaxed in his solar, idly wondering about the fortunes Fate had dealt him of late. He was more than a little bitter about the arm, considering it had been attached to his dominant hand and his left was a poor substitute. To make matters worse, the bitch who'd done the damage was now the hero of Stormwind for having saved Lord Mercer, his lady wife and their child. He had to admit that saving Mercer had been an unwitting favour to him, as the Lord was deeply in dept to the gambling establishment that Havarbrook controlled. Not only had the spiteful little bitch saved a valuable asset, but from what he had heard floating about the palace gossip mills, the girl had been visited by his son. Perhaps the boy would be of use yet.

The knock at the solar door interrupted his musings. When it opened, an unhappy looking man in his late forties, his beard and close-cropped hair gone more salt than auburn, entered and closed the door behind him. "Lord Havarbrook." The greeting was tight and more than a little cold.

"Ah General Branigan, so nice to see you." Baen sat, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, a snifter of fine brandy in his remaining hand "Care for a drink?" The sideboard was well stocked, but the General did not look interested.

"You asked for me, and I'm here. I'm a busy man." General Miles Branigan looked more than a little drawn and weary "I've got the Twelfth leaving at dawn."

"Really? The entire Twelfth?" Baen looked at the crystal snifter and swirled the dark liquid it contained before taking a sip. "A little bird told me that Lakeshore got tired of waiting for us to act and hired a pack of mercenaries who have driven the gnolls and Blackrock orcs well back into the hills. I hardly think that warrants the entire Twelfth Regiment of His Majesty's Royal Cavalry. Do you?"

The General's eyes narrowed in suspicious irritation. "Damn your little spies, sir." He growled "I'll admit it will only take half of the Twelfth to accomplish what we'd set out to do. Still, it will be good experience for some of the newer men."

"I think at least one Company should stay behind." Havarbrook said thoughtfully "You never know when there will be a resurgence of bandits and highwaymen between here and the Shires." He finished off the snifter in a swallow and looked over the fine crystal piece at the annoyed General. Normally, the man took orders only from Bolvar or the King, and this obviously grated his pride. "I'm sure my son's Company could be of such use. Besides, Kalvyn hasn't taken leave in over three years. His mother pines for him." When Branigan looked as though he were about to argue, Havarbrook gave him a cold smile. "And before you tell me 'no', I doubt very much your wife would warm to the idea of you having a mistress, or of said whore going public with all the sordid details of your rather questionable sexual tastes. "

Branigan's face went crimson and a vein in his forehead bulged. "You wouldn't _dare_."

"Try me." Havarbrook's smile became rather toothy and tossed his snifter casually into the low-burning hearth. It smashed into a myriad of shards that twinkled in the firelight and the brandy dregs cause the fire to briefly flare. "Colonel Zaren is rather eager for a promotion…"

"Fine." The reply was icy and it took all of his will for the General to not pull his sword on the smug noble, doubly so when Havarbrook waved him away in dismissal as he would a servant.

"You know the way out."

The sound of her boots on the polished marble floor seemed much too loud as Taliah walked at the King's shoulder. The paladin didn't know where Gretchen had managed to dig up the dove grey woollen uniform tunic and trousers, but she was grateful, having been worried they'd try to shoehorn her into a dress. After a flurry of alterations, the fit was quite good, and even her battered old boots had finally taken a shine after almost three hours of spit, polish and elbow grease on her part. Her golden spurs had even taken a gleam after a good buffing. "What am I in for, exactly?" The paladin did not look up at the King as they walked breast down the column-lined corridor. Minor nobles, gentry and palace staff cleared the way respectfully though Taliah could hear the whispers in their wake.

"The Council decided a relaxed brunch in my audience chamber was more apt to put you at ease and encourage you to stay than a grand public to-do." Varian nodded politely to acknowledge the bows and curtsies of the people they passed. "They argued about wanting to present you to the fullest extent to the people of Stormwind, but I was rather adamantly against it." The paladin knew it wasn't out of wanting to keep her a secret. That ship had sailed when the team of greys had run off in the middle of the market district. If the nobles on the council knew her bloodline, it was a good bet that by now, most of Stormwind did as well. He was merely trying to protect her privacy while she continued to mend her broken heart, and it made her love him a little for it.

"I'd prefer is you weren't there, your Majesty." Taliah still could not bring herself to call him 'father' for some reason, but for the first time, it wasn't in an effort to be petty or wound him. When Varian's expression became questioning, Taliah held up a hand. "I must be seen as able to stand on my own. Besides, I've fought demons and undead. Meeting the Council doesn't seem that frightening."

"You'd be surprised." Varian chuckled dryly. They stopped before a set of polished oak and brass doors which lightly armoured guards opened with alacrity when they arrived. Wrynn gave his daughter a reassuring pat on the shoulder and she entered the large room with her head up. The room had been cleared of inconsequential furniture so that a sumptuous banquet table could be placed in the middle. The platters were filled with fresh fruits, puddings, jugs of wine and cooling roasts of beef and wild boar. The smell of roast pig caused Taliah's stomach to heave, but she slammed the mental door on the terrible memory of the smell of Anderhal's citizens burning.

The herald cleared his throat as the doors closed behind her and his voice filled the room "Lady Taliah Dawnstar. First born to His Majesty King Varian, veteran of Anderhal, Quel'danas, and Light's Hope, Knight of the Argent Dawn and Paladin of the Silver Hand." The eight council members had risen as she'd entered and when they herald finished rattling off her titles, they began to applaud. Taliah assessed them with a quick glance as though they were enemies on the field; they ranged in age from late thirties to sixties or perhaps seventies, they were all finely dressed for a 'relaxed' brunch as though to show off their affluence, and their smiles ranged from genuine to well practiced pasted-on.

"Ah, the shy hero!" Lord Weln Mercer moved forward and offered his hand. The youngest member of the council, by her estimate, Mercer's smile was genuine. "Lady Dawnstar, I want to thank you again, from the bottom of my heart, for your selfless bravery. You most certainly saved my family that day. I will be forever grateful."

"No need to thank me, my lord." Taliah took his hand in a firm but not overbearing grip. "I am glad your family was unharmed." While hers was calloused and strong, Mercer's was almost like gripping a dead fish.

"You are far too modest, my lady." Mercer offered his arm and the paladin let him lead her to the immense table. Servants pulled out their chairs and seated them while others brought the first course. Plates of quail cooked in bacon fat and stuffed with asparagus heads, cheese and potatoes were set before them and berry wine was poured. The eldest of the council, a distinguished looking man with white hair and a clean-shaven jaw held up his glass in toast.

"To Stormwind's newest champion." His voice was not loud, but it was powerful "May she inspire others to selfless acts of kindness." There was a chorus of agreements and as Taliah smiled politely, she waited for the questions to come as the eight men tucked into their plates. She didn't have to wait long.

"So, my dear." Gretchen had given Taliah a crash course on the members of the council and she guessed the elder statesman that addressed her to be Orias Fitch. His tone was almost grandfatherly rather than patronizing. "You travelled a long way to escort the deathknight to us to bear his news. I've read the reports; your journey was not an easy one."

"It was what it was, my Lord." She took a sip of wine and was struck by the heady sweetness of whatever fruits it contained. It was the type of wine one could easily and quickly drink far too much of, and Taliah reminded herself to be prudent. Her one and only bout of drunkenness had been embarrassing enough. "Suffice to say I've acquired no great love of the sea, nor of the things that call it home. I'm rather content to be on dry land after two months on a ship." She glanced at Lord Havarbrook who watched her as would a cat eyeing a particularly feisty, irritating mouse. He was seated on the opposite side of the table and at the end farthest from her as though to keep them as far apart as possible, but still at the same table.

The council talked of small things in polite conversation for the next few courses that seemed to Taliah to drag on forever – how did she like Stormwind, how did she find the weather and the like, but as the courses and conversation wore on, the questions became a bit more pointed and Taliah was glad she'd gone easy on the wine.

"I've heard it said that at Light's Hope, you were three hundred against ten thousand Scourge, led by Mograine himself." Lord Gaius Troilte looked over his wineglass at Taliah as she bit into the largest, sweetest strawberry she'd ever met. "Surely that's a bit of an exaggeration?"

"No, it's no exaggeration." Finishing her bite, she wiped the red juice from her lips with a white linen napkin and looked at the man evenly "We lost a third of our forces in the first few minutes. Had Mograine not turned against the Lich King and given Ashbringer to Lord Fordring, the outcome would have not been so favourable." Taliah's face became grave "Do not imagine that the situation in Lordaeron is less dire than what you've heard, my Lords. As Greymane's Wall is still barred against refugees and Gilneans alike, Southshore is all that remains of the cities and towns of the North."

"Yes, and we sympathize with the plight of the Argent Dawn, but the Scourge has not moved beyond Eastern and Western Lordaeron for eight years now." The fact that Havarbrook had spoken at all and he was challenging her assertion that the Scourge was still a threat, if in a roundabout way, did not surprise her.

"Yes, the Scourge has contained itself, for the time being, in Eastern and Western Lordaeron thanks to the work of the Argent Dawn. The Forsaken control the Undercity and Tirisfal all the way down into the Hillsbrad foothills. Tarren Mill is overrun with them and it lies a scant twenty miles from Southshore." Taliah glanced about the table "Make no mistake, my Lords; the Scourge is coming. Arthas sent ten thousand undead against us at Light's Hope simply to draw out Tirion Fordring. Think of the force he will muster when he moves against the last great human Kingdom of Azeroth."

"This isn't a subject that I, for one, wish to ruin our brunch with." quipped a man of middling years with a shiny bald pate and a long ginger and white beard. "Let the Lich King rot in Northrend. Lordaeron is a long way from here."

"Keep praying he stays there, then. May the Light grant you that faint hope." Taliah wanted to argue the point, but she did not have the patience to convince the naysayers that Arthas was indeed a threat to their cozy little existence. She'd leave that to Bolvar. Instead, she turned to Lord Mercer. "My Lord, I understand the guard that was run down while trying to aid you will make a full recovery. He should be back on duty within the month."

"Will he?" Mercer asked politely but without real interest. "Well… that's good news."

"He's got a wife and children. I assume there is some sort stipend for wounded servicemen…" When Mercer looked down at his food and a few of the others gave her dubious looks, Taliah's eyes narrowed. "Surely he will be paid some sort of compensation until he is able to return to his duties."

"Why?" Havarbrook gave her a long, disdainful look. "If he cannot work, he does not get paid." When others nodded in agreement, one of Taliah's black brows rose and she slowly set down her fork.

"So the man did his duty, risked his life unflinchingly in the service of his city, but you'll beggar his wife and starve his children until he is able to go back to duty?" The paladin was coolly incredulous.

"My dear." Fitch gave her a grandfatherly smile. This time his tone did not match the smile, as though she were some flighty schoolgirl that couldn't possibly understand what he was about to say and Taliah finally saw the elder statesman for what he was. "A woman's heart is a soft, sweet thing. It makes the hard realities sometimes difficult." He chuckled and shook his head Fitch mused with a sigh. "If this man is not working, he earns no wage."

It took all of her self-control to not walk around the table and start putting her fist into the faces that smirked in agreement. Instead, she leaned forward and put her chin to her hand, her elbow propped on the table. "Let me tell you about 'hard realities'." She smiled sweetly but her words were cloaked in steel "When someone takes up arms in the name of King and country, to serve with honour and loyalty and risk death or worse to protect their homes and families, they deserve compensation when they are injured or killed in the line of duty." Her cold eyes swept the faces of those seated about her and she could not hide the thinly veiled disgust that made her upper lip curl. The condescending smirks began to fade. "To take their service and sacrifice and throw it back in their faces like this is appalling, gentlemen. Honour does not feed their families and bravery does not clothe their children, nor does it care for their grief should their soldier not come home. That is _your_ duty." Taliah stood slowly. "If there are no provisions for dispensation to the wounded or the families of the dead, then make some. Today. War is coming my Lords, much sooner than any of us wish it to."

It was obvious that the Council was not accustomed to being spoken to with such biting contempt. "Now wait just a moment, _girl_." Fitch stood slowly, more from age than dramatic effect as the rest of the council muttered amongst themselves. "You may be a hero, but you've no right to address this Council with such flippant disregard."

"And you've no right to ask anyone to risk themselves for you if you don't give a shit what happens to them." Taliah replied coldly "I've lead men into battle. I've seen them die following my orders and at times and at times I still hear the screams of the wounded when I sleep." She tossed her napkin onto her plate, what little appetite she had left now gone. "Do not misjudge me as someone weak of heart or will gentlemen, or you will do so to your regret. If it takes the 'soft' heart of a woman to see the injustice here, then perhaps there should be a few on this council, for clearly this body is inadequate to serve the people it supposedly governs." Taliah gave a somewhat mocking bow "Now if you'll excuse me, I find that I no longer have an appetite." The paladin turned and strode off, ignoring the sharp discussions she left in her wake.

Taliah managed to find her way back to the private park and sought out the white marble bench in the rose garden. The sun was high and warm with little breeze to temper it but it felt good as she shrugged out of her uniform tunic to the white silk shirt beneath. She stretched out on the bench, hands on her belly and not at all regretting having stirred the council like a pot of rancid porridge. The fact that they showed so little regard for the wounded man and his family made her too angry to care. Taliah was not alone long, and when a broad shadow fell across her face, she knew who it would belong to. "Hey, I _tried_ to be good. I can't be blamed if your Council of Nobles is full of men who haven't the slightest idea what it is to be 'noble'."

"You've really kicked a hornet's nest." Varian gave her a swat on the leg and Taliah sat up so that he could sit beside her on the bench. "Did you really tell them they were unfit to govern the people?"

"If they can't see that withholding pay from a soldier wounded in the line of duty is wrong, then they have no business trying to make policy for a populace they obviously do not understand." Taliah snorted irritably and waited for the dressing-down to commence. Instead, Wrynn gave her a proud smile.

"I'm ashamed to admit that I had no idea there was no compensation set up." He shook his head and ran a hand through his thick black hair. Varian looked at her sidelong and smiled "You've a good heart, Taliah. I will see that the council puts forth the orders and provisions will be made." He laughed dryly "I heard you gave quite a speech."

Taliah gave a shrug "I'm a paladin. I can't stand by and let injustice go unchallenged. I didn't make any friends on the Council today, but I could give a shit, so long as that man and his family are taken care of." She sat up straight and bent slightly backwards, stretching her back and shoulders. "Now, as per our agreement, you owe me a sword."

Wrynn laughed "Aye… I suppose you've earned it."

Later that evening Taliah sat before the hearth in her receiving room and looked down Peacekeeper's bright blade. She studied the edges and scowled while the golden runes pulsed as though alive. "My poor baby..." the soft tones of her dismay made Gretchen look at the paladin as though she thought the girl had lost her mind. "What did they do to you?" It was more a question of what they _hadn't_ done; the blood had only been wiped off in a cursory fashion and the blade had not been honed of the tiny knick from its contact with Bolvar's weapon.

"Really, my Lady." Clearly Gretchen was not as in love with the beautiful sword as its wielder was "Must you have that …thing… out?" She waved at the sword as though it were a living thing that may bite her. "Honestly… why should a woman wield a sword?"

"I'm a paladin." Taliah replied as she took out a honing stone and began to run it down the blade. The grating noise was like the voice of a long lost friend and the paladin found it strangely soothing. "What am I supposed to use instead, harsh language?"

"You use enough of that as it is." The maid quipped with a scowl "Will you not have some supper? Your bisque is getting cold." She fussed over the covered trays spread neatly over the table but Taliah didn't look.

"Weapon first, food later." Taliah ran a small round-ended tool over the edge of the blade, scowling when it found a few blemishes still present. She again grated the edge of the weapon firmly with the stone and she saw Gretchen cringe as though the paladin were dragging rusty nails over a sheet of tin.

"If you _insist_ on doing that here my Lady, I will return in an hour or two." The maid told her in exasperation, unable to take the grinding and taping anymore. Taliah waved over her shoulder as Gretchen made for the door, but when she opened it, a surprised looking man was on the other side, his fist raised as though to knock.

Kalvyn Havarbrook heard the familiar, musical sound of stone on blade as the door opened and almost accidently knocked upon Gretchen's head. He looked aghast at almost having struck her and his hands shot behind his back. "Forgive me. Is Lady Taliah here?" He knew the answer, unless her quarters had been repurposed into blacksmith's shop but still, it was polite to ask. Gretchen just pointed inside as though the room were full of spiders and Havarbrook watched as she hustled off. Stepping into the room, he closed the door behind him.

Taliah glanced over her shoulder, her black brows drawing together as she set eyes on him. "What do you want?" She wasn't exactly unfriendly, but nor did she leap up to greet him, hailing him as though he were lost and somehow stumbled into her suites. "I thought you were supposed to be leaving for Lakeshire."

"You said I could call on you again, my Lady." Kalvyn smiled. He hoped he didn't sound like a smitten schoolboy and look like an idiot besides. "And yes, I was supposed to have left for Lakeshire with the Twelfth this morning, but apparently the problem isn't as bad as we were lead to believe and my company was excused." It was obvious he was unhappy about it, but he was also a soldier and did what he was ordered.

"Oh… well…" Taliah glanced over her shoulder again as she ran a sharpening stone down the length of the shining blade "Sorry." It was obvious he had been eager to head out and being left behind obviously stung, as it should have to any good soldier. "About being left behind… not the trouble being less than anticipated." When she realized she was babbling, Taliah went back to her work "Food's on the table if you want some supper. Always plenty, hate to see it go to waste."

"I hear you made quite a speech today." Havarbrook smiled and Taliah's eyes narrowed in his direction. "Sorry. You'll find that not much remains a secret in the Palace for long."

"I only did what I thought was right." Taliah again shrugged. "People who live comfortably because of the sacrifice of others need to be reminded occasionally of what their troops are owed."

"You didn't make any friends among the council, but when the rank and file found out, they drank a toast in the garrison mess to you." Kalvyn spared the set table a glance but was much more interested in the sword Taliah was caring for. He approached, but stood at a polite distance and watched the paladin work. The blade was hand-and-a-half length, as wide at the base as the span between the tips of the paladin's thumb and forefinger before it tapered off to somewhat rounded point. The fuller was wide and he watched the softly glowing golden runes etched therein pulse slowly like a heartbeat. The cross-guard was wide, with an upward projecting golden hilt that resembled wings and the golden chappe was the visage of a roaring lion, its eyes composed of two sapphires. The grip was black leather wrapped with flat, braided gold wire and the pommel was in the shape of a silver fist. Havarbrook knew fine cutlery when he saw it, and this was one of the finest he'd seen. Ever. "Dwarven craftsmanship." He mused thoughtfully "The blade was probably folded and refolded for a month to enhance its already superior strength. Is the balance as good as it looks?"

Taliah glanced over her shoulder, her expression curious. "Aye." She balanced the flat of the blade near the hilt on two fingers. "Mithril makes the blade light enough for prolonged combat and the slightly more than half-tang makes it easier to grip with smaller hands." She ran the tool once more down the blade and found no more nicks. With a satisfied grin, Taliah offered the weapon to Kalvyn who received it somewhat reverently. His brow furrowed slightly as the glow of the runes gradually faded. "The Mithril was infused with the Light during smelting… or so a dwarven blacksmith once told me. The Light can be channelled through it, if you know how. Handy for cutting down the undead."

Havarbrook looked the blade over with a discerning eye, admiring the craftsmanship "Please tell me you gave this beauty a name."

"Peacemaker." Taliah hadn't realized how much she'd missed 'talking shop' with another horse soldier. She'd been rather lonely since Necrucian had presumably become busy with other things. Havarbrook carried no weapon of his own and was dressed in civilian attire. His dark blond hair was pulled back into a neat queue at the nape of his neck, and his red-gold beard was only slightly more than stubble upon his strong jaw. The paladin's lips parted to speak but she was interrupted by the high-pitched gurgling sound of her belly demanding food. Taliah's cheeks flushed slightly in embarrassment and she looked down at the offending noisemaker. "Well… that was awkward."

Kalvyn grinned and offered his hand "You invited me to supper, more or less." Taliah took the offered appendage in a firm grip and the Captain pulled the paladin to her feet before offering Peacemaker hilt-first. When the blade returned to the paladin's hand, the runes once again flared to life. "Would you join me?" Taliah sheathed the blade and Havarbrook watched her shift uncomfortably before allowing him to lead her away from the hearth. The Captain graciously pulled out her chair before seating himself at the opposite side of the small square table. The food was delicious if a bit on the cold side, but silence reigned for nearly twenty minutes before Havarbrook found it becoming uncomfortable.

"So, how are you enjoying Stormwind?" The question seemed innocent enough, but the paladin took a long time to answer.

"I was ready to leave before I even hit the shore." She replied, seemingly in defeat. "Four months ago, I'd have considered myself lucky to have a tent to sleep in and hot food even once a day. Now I have a featherbed that is trying to eat me and food by the cartload delivered whenever I wish. I've gained ten pounds in less than a fortnight." She looked down at herself "Not that it's a bad thing." Kalvyn had to agree, though he did so silently. The paladin seemed far too thin, even to his eyes. How she had managed to stop the runaway carriage was hard to fathom despite the fact he'd witnessed it firsthand. "It's been…" Her voice trailed off and he sensed her sadness though nothing showed on her face "It's been very had to adjust."

"Surely it can't be all bad…" Havarbrook grimaced apologetically "I mean, other than my father being an ass and your crossing blades with the Highlord." Taliah lapsed into silence once more and the Captain wiped at his mouth with a linen napkin. He'd meant the words in jest, but they had somehow fallen flat.

After a quiet dinner, Taliah asked Gretchen to find her a dozen loaves of bread, half as many wheels of cheese, a bag of dried peas and a side of bacon. Though the maid gave the paladin a curious look, she asked no questions but Havarbrook could not contain his curiosity. "Are you feeding a platoon?"

"No, just a hungry family." When the supplies had been brought, Taliah split the burden between herself and the Captain. "I'm ashamed to say I don't even know the man's name." she sighed as they loaded the goods into a small single-horse wagon pulled by a piebald pony.

"Arlon Greshion." Kalvyn put a foot into the wheel's spokes and bounded up onto the wide seat. "He lives over in Olde Town." The Captain offered the paladin his hand and she climbed up beside him. When she was seated, Kalvyn gave the lines a flip and the pony broke into a slow trot. The sun was an hour or two from setting and the sky was shot through with pink and orange that reflected off the thin streaks of grey cloud. The streets were still busy with people and taxi gigs going about their business, but it was quiet and pleasant. The rhythmic sound of the pony's shod hooves made the paladin relax despite herself, but when Havarbrook glanced at her, that shroud of sad loneliness seemed to have settled upon her once more. Kalvyn had seen enough grieving wives to know the expression well and asked no questions.

The night was cool but Taliah seemed immune though she wore only a linen tunic and calfskin breaches. As they travelled through the city, their surroundings became noticeably poorer than the trade district, and the dwellings were tightly packed. When Kalvyn drew the pony to a stop, Taliah slid from the seat as Havarbrook tied the lines to the brake. When he gestured to the door beside them, the paladin gave it a knock.

A woman near Taliah's age opened it just slightly and peeked at the paladin from the other side of the chain that bolted the door. Taliah gave the woman a warm smile. "Madame Greshion?"

"Yes…?" The woman replied cautiously. Taliah could hear a pair of curious little voices from behind the door.

"M'lady, my name is Taliah. I met your husband the day of the runaway in the trade district-" Woman's eyes went wide. The door closed suddenly and Taliah could hear the rattle of chain before it jerked open once more.

"Come in, my Lady! Won't you come in?" the woman smiled and looked almost in tears as she took the paladin's hand and nearly dragged her inside and Taliah could hear Kalvyn chuckle softly somewhere behind her. "Please forgive my rudeness." A pair of children, one five and the other perhaps nine greeted the paladin enthusiastically. "Please forgive the disorder. Our home was not meant for such a distinguished guest."

The walls were mortar and stone, held together by an old but sturdy frame. The walls were whitewashed and a pleasant fire burned in the hearth though the pot pulled to the side of the fire was empty. There was no 'disorder' that Taliah could see and everything seemed to have its place though the woven rug upon the floor was a bit threadbare. The furniture was rough-hewn but more than serviceable, the empty plats made of unglazed clay sat upon the table. To Taliah who'd spent far too much of her life living in the mud, the small, rough home was more inviting than her marble tiled suites and lacquered furniture.

"Violet?" a weary voice came from behind a blanket that closed off the small adjoining room. "What's wrong?" Taliah heard a grunt and the sound of someone rising from a straw mattress. Arlon Greshion was still obviously sore and weak from blood loss. He used a roughed out cane to support himself, but when he saw Taliah, the guard's face lit up.

"I thought I'd come by and see how you were doing, Arlon." Taliah offered her hand and the guard shook it with both of his. "Are you healing well?"

Arlon gave a brave smile "Aye, my Lady. Thanks to you. I owe you a debt I can never repay, I fear." He motioned for Taliah and Kalvyn to sit while he hobbled to a bench by the dinner table. "I should be fit for duty by month's end, or so the surgeon tells me."

"Good to hear." Taliah replied and began unpacking the bags and setting their contents on the table. "In the meantime, Captain Havarbrook and I have brought you and yours some provisions to help you along." The paladin could tell the guard was a proud man, and had it just been him to worry about, Arlon would have tried to refuse but from the way the children looked at the provisions, it was obvious the family had been going on little or without since shortly after the accident.

"You're kind, my lady." Arlon smiled glumly "Things have been hard since I was injured." He reached out and put a hand to his wife's arm and she turned her face to hide her tears as she gripped his hand in reply.

"Don't worry about it." Taliah gave them both a sharp smile. "You'll be getting your full wages while you heal up." The paladin's grey eyes narrowed "And if you don't, send word to me and I will find out why."

Tangible relief flooded over Arlon's entire posture and his wife hugged him, her tears gone from sadness to elation and now flowing freely. After many thank-yous, and politely declining an offer to stay for dinner, Taliah and Kalvyn boarded the cart and turned the pony back in the direction of the palace. It had grown dark and cooler but the moon was nearly to full. The light reflected off the dew-damp cobbles and pony walked at an unhurried pace.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, Taliah…and please don't think me too forward…" Kalvyn seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "But I've never met a woman quite like you before."

"You've never met a bitchy, jaded woman with a short temper before?" Taliah gave a dry, self-deprecating chuckle. "Count yourself lucky. You aren't missing much." She leaned back in the cart's seat, her elbows resting upon the top edge.

"No…" Havarbrook replied thoughtfully "I've never met a woman of noble birth who gave a damn about people who can't somehow benefit her." He gave her a long glance from the corner of his eye "You'd already won the man his pay. You didn't have to do anything beyond that."

"Didn't I?" Taliah thought it absurd. "If I could help them, why wouldn't I? I'll not see a family go hungry if there's aught I can do about it." She shook her head "Things are different in the North. If you don't help each other, protect each other, there's things out there that will tear you apart. Litterally." Taliah closed her eyes "At Light's Hope, knights are cheek to jowl with the infantry. We share the same fires, the same food, and the same bawdy jokes. There's no difference between 'noble' and 'common' blood. It's all red."

"You sound like you miss it." There was understanding there, and sympathy, and Taliah sighed, that same veil of sadness and loneliness that she'd worn earlier coming back to her fair features.

"No, I don't miss it." Taliah's brow furrowed as she considered his words. "I just don't feel like I belong anywhere anymore. After seven years of almost constant fighting, I'm suddenly a soldier without a battle to fight."

"There's more to life than just being a soldier. You can wear the armour and wield the blade, but there's more to life than just the next battle." Havarbrook's lips purse in thought, and he grinned "Tell you what. There's a bit of a to-do at the palace in two days. I would be honoured if you'd accompany me."

Taliah scowled "Does it involve me wearing a dress?"

Kalvyn's brows rose innocently as he grinned "Yeah, probably."

The paladin flexed her hands and her demeanour turned stony. "I really don't like parties. The last one I was at, I lopped your father's arm off." Taliah had been hoping for some sort of negative reaction to her coldly flippant words, but all she got was a curious look.

"Taliah, can I ask you something?" The paladin grunted and sat back in the seat, crossing her arms. As she hadn't said a discernable 'no', Kal continued "Why do you keep trying to push me away?" When she didn't reply, he took a deep breath before letting it out slowly "If I'm bothering you, just say so and I won't darken your doorstep again."

"What is it you want from me?" she asked coldly "Do you see some prize? Some convoluted reach for power?" Taliah gave him a long, hard look "Did your father send you so he could possibly one day see his house on the throne?"

"I've no love for the man, nor he for me. If it weren't for the fact I'm his only heir, he probably would have disowned me by now." Kal's told her flatly but his expression was almost hurt. "I'd be happy enough if I could just call you 'friend'."

"Why?" the paladin looked both angry and befuddled "What am I to you?"

"You're a somewhat abrasive, angry woman who is capable of great acts of bravery and compassion." Kal told her simply "You were injured, but you save Arlon's life and then brought his family food because you thought they _might_ be going hungry. You stood up to the Council and got those arrogant old bastards to realize you wouldn't be bullied from speaking your mind." He stopped the cart and turned to look her in the eye "Do you know how rare that is around here? I'm so tired of political doublespeak every time I try to have a conversation with anyone, I want to tear out my hair." Kal could see tears cresting her lower lashes though she tried to keep her stoic expression. "I've seen the sadness in your eyes, even when you laugh, and it tears at me." Reaching out, he put his index finger beneath her chin and gently turned Taliah's head so that she had to look at him. "I would mend your broken heart, if I knew how."

Taliah's stony expression didn't change and she pulled her face away. "Please, just take me back to the palace." Her voice was as emotionless as her expression and Kal's shoulders slumped as though in defeat.

"As you wish, my Lady."


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight.**

The sound of a sword blade cutting through the air led him to her. The morning was cool and misty and Taliah steamed heavily in the chill air. Drenched in sweat, teeth clenched and bared while her nostrils flared with every breath, the paladin moved as though under attack. Her form was impeccable and her style was swift, decisive and very aggressive but she was obviously tired. Bolvar Fordragon watched in silence and at a distance. The grass around her in the private park was trampled flat for twenty feet in all directions and Bolvar guessed she'd been at it a while. Finally, with an inarticulate snarl of rage, Taliah staggered and went down on one knee, her steaming breaths coming in heavy pants of physical exhaustion. It was only then that she seemed to realize she was being watched. The young paladin gave Bolvar a quick glance and squinted through the mist before pushing herself to her feet.

Though the dawn was still young in the sky, Fordragon had been looking for the girl for oven an hour. "Whoever you're angry with, I pity them." Bolvar mused and Taliah looked away. "Anyone I know?"

"Forgive me, Highlord." Taliah wiped the seat from her face her forearm and sheathed her weapon. "I needed some fresh air. If you have need of the park, I will return to my quarters."

Bolvar approached and put a hand to her shoulder "I was actually looking for you. Gretchen had no idea where you'd gone, so I've been on a bit of a hunt." He didn't look irritated and gave the girl a smile. "So, what's got you so bent out of shape? I could tell you weren't just practicing forms."

Taliah could not meet his eyes "I dunno." Bolvar's straight soldier's way of speaking was comforting. She was getting rather tired of all the stifling formality.

"Should I tell young Captain Havarbrook to keep his distance?" Fordragon gave her a conspiratorial smile and Taliah's cheek turned red before her gaze shift downward as though in shame. The elder paladin's brow furrowed in concern. "Did something happen last night?"

"If you're asking if he's an octopus, no – he's been nothing but a perfect gentleman. If he was grabby he'd be missing more appendages than his father." Taliah fumed and her hands flexed at her sides. "Apparently, despite my best efforts to be a complete bitch, he still seems to like me." She told him of the trip in the pony cart through Olde Town and Havarbrook's words to her.

"And you don't feel the same?" Bolvar took a seat in the grass, his legs crossed comfortably and invited Taliah to do likewise. With some reluctance, she sank to the ground before him. "I know you've suffered a terrible loss, Taliah…"

"Shit, I don't know how I feel!" She buried her face into her hands in frustration. "Joscelin's been in the ground only three months and I'm already feeling drawn to another man? It's not right." Taliah let out a shuddering breath "I feel like I've betrayed him." She had no idea why she was pouring her guts out to Bolvar, the man she held as the epitome of what a paladin should be, but frustration and loneliness was getting the better of her.

"I know you're still grieving, but I also don't think your Joscelin would want you to endure the rest of your days alone." Bolvar reached over and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder "If you aren't ready to open your heart, just tell him. I know Kal. He's a good man. He'll understand."

"So what got your boots on at this Light-forsaken hour?" Taliah cleared her throat and changed the subject. The sun was creeping ever skyward, but it was still very early and she hardly though Stormwind's Champion had come to discuss her love life.

"Well…" Bolvar thought carefully before he continued. "I'm sure you recall the day of the runaway." When Taliah rolled her eyes, Fordragon chuckled "Yeah, I thought so. But think back, to when we were healing the wounded guard."

"What about it?" Taliah's right brow rose curiously. "Seemed like a standard-issue healing to me." She was not sure what Bolvar was getting at, but she could not be suspicious of his motives. He _was_ Fordragon, after all.

"How did your connection to the Light join with, and then amplify, my own?" Taliah thought at first Bolvar was asking a rhetorical question, but the confusion on his face was genuine. "Paladins can join their abilities to make them more powerful, as we did when the healing first started, but you felt as I did that the man was bleeding out faster than we could mend him. When you realized he would die, I felt you reach out through the Light and intensify not only your abilities, but mine as well." Bolvar's mood had turned serious. "It felt as though I had tapped into a wellspring of the Light, more powerful than anything I'd drawn on before." The smile on his face became somewhat conspiratorial. "How did you do it? It shouldn't be possible."

Taliah looked at him blankly. "I dunno. I asked and I got an answer." She replied with a shrug. "The first time it happened, we were in Andorhal to defend some necromancer's tomb. " The memory was still hard to stomach. "We were outnumbered at least five to one. I prayed to the Light and did what I could to help, but channelling that much power to Gavinrad, Dareg and Joss was just too much. I could feel men dying all around me, and a thirteen-year-old girl only lasts so long in battle, even with the Light's aid. When Gavinrad was cut down, I had nothing left." She gave a soft, sad laugh. "Didn't matter much anyway, everyone but Joss and I were dead." Taliah shifted uncomfortably, her tired muscles beginning to stiffen. "At Light's Hope, I was in Browman's Mill looking for Joss, but I actually 'saw' what Tirion was seeing back at the Chapel. I figured myself dead and just let go, offering myself to the Light." Her eyes widened at the memory of the sensation of almost overwhelming power. "I could feel Tirion's desperation, so I focused on him. The Light did the rest."

Bolvar leaned forward and took both of her hands in his, gripping them firmly "Tell no one else of this, Taliah. This is not something I want to become general knowledge. Clear?" The young paladin gave an uneasy nod, her eyes wide at the almost dire tone to Fordragon's voice. The older paladin rose and offered his hand, pulling the girl to her feet. "Go get some food and some rest." He smiled as he left her, but looked over his shoulder before disappearing down the path through the woods "And give the idea of letting young Captain Havarbrook see that sweet, compassionate heart that lies under all that thorny armour a bit of thought."

Taliah watched him go and for some reason she couldn't name, she was frightened.

The steam rose about her and Taliah closed her eyes as the heat from the bathwater soaked into her chilled and sore muscles. Ten extra pounds had taken some of the spring from her step when she'd first begun working through her forms, but once Taliah had gotten used to the feel and footwork, everything else had fallen into place. Looking down at herself, her hills and valleys seemed a bit softer though her ribs were still visible. There'd be no harm in continuing to stuff her face provided she started getting physical again.

"My Lady?" Gretchen pocked her head into the bath and Taliah craned her head back, making a contented noise to let the maid know she was listening. "Captain Havarbrook was at the door. He would not stay, but he did leave you something."

The paladin cracked an eye, genuinely curious. The man was nothing if not tenacious. "What was it?" Gretchen entered and offered Taliah a single crimson rose and a neatly folded piece of parchment, sealed with a blob of red wax. The sigil imprinted within bore a stag and boar combatant to either side of a shield bearing two lances. Taliah held the rose, it's petals only beginning to open, and regarded it with a raised brow.

"The colour of respect, courage and sincere love." Gretchen told her with a small, enquiring smile. "It was obvious the boy is sweet on you my Lady, though I didn't think you'd take notice."

Taliah wanted to snap something in reply but just couldn't find it in her heart to be foul to Gretchen. For all the woman's irritating advise and harping, she only seemed to have Taliah's wellbeing at heart. "Honestly, I didn't until he told me last night."

Gretchen's lips pursed in a scowl "I wondered why you were in such a foul mood when you returned." Taliah sat up in the tub and cracked the seal on the letter. Kal's penmanship was much like the man himself; neat, concise and lacking unnecessary flourishes that seemed to be popular among the elite.

_Taliah ~_

_I apologize if my words last night upset you. It was certainly not my intension. I've always believed that honesty is a virtue too seldom seen and only wanted you to know how I feel about you. I know you are grieving, though I know not why, and I will not ask out of respect for your sorrow. _

_Your sometimes brutal honesty and your compassion for those others forget is a breath of fresh air in a place that has stagnated for far too long. I enjoy our time together and I hope we can continue to be friends. As you already know how I feel, I will not bring up the subject again and if we can eventually share something beyond friendship, I will leave that decision solely up to you._

_Fondest regards, _

_**Kal**_

_P.S – I would be honoured if you would accompany me to the party tomorrow evening. Formal attire is required, but if you don't want to wear a gown, I can probably find you an officer's uniform if you'd prefer. Please say you'll go? Pleasepleasepleaseplease? Don't leave me alone with these people…I'll surely go mad with boredom._

Taliah let out a snort of genuine laughter and the water rippled around her. When Gretchen enquired as to what was so amusing, the paladin handed her the letter as she twirled the rose gently in her fingers. The soft petals brushed against her nose and the paladin gave a slow inhale. It was sweet and smelled of spring.

"Well, that doesn't give us much time, does it?" Gretchen scratched the back of her neck and huffed before glancing down at Taliah. "You _are_ going…?"

Taliah's broad shoulders shrugged but still chuckled "Well hell, might as well go. I mean, he begged. It would be cruel to say no." Gretchen put the letter away and poured a jug of hot water over Taliah's hair before applying a handful of soap that smelled of lilies.

"Please tell me you aren't going to wear a uniform?" The maid was genuinely pleading. "I beg you, let me find you a gown. I'll have to do it quickly as I'm sure it will need significant alteration." Taliah could almost hear the gears in Gretchen's mind whirring. "I'll have Porcia do your hair and Aleene can do your makeup…"

Taliah was too relaxed to care and let the obviously elated maid continue to think out loud. "Do what you like." The paladin murmured as Gretchen's strong fingers massaged her scalp. "As long as I don't look like a whore, I don't care."

"Really, my Lady." Gretchen chided, scandalized. "You are the blood of royalty and I will ensure that you are properly turned out for the Noble Garden ball."

"The Noblewhatnow?" Taliah, nearly relaxed into a coma, wasn't even really listening anymore. If she didn't think she'd probably drown in the huge bathtub, she would have fallen asleep.

"The Noble Garden celebration has been going on all week now." Gretchen finished her ministrations and gave Taliah a pat on the shoulder. The paladin ducked under the water to rinse her raven tresses and came up with a snort. "It's the celebration of spring, culminating in the biggest ball and feast of the year." Taliah leaned back against the tub and sank into the water until it was almost to her nose. "Everyone who's anyone will be there; nobles, ambassadors, ranking military. It's a grand affair."

Taliah scowled and wondered what the hell she'd just agreed to.

The rest of the morning was a flurry of measuring and fittings done by a near army of women from the dressmaker that Gretchen had contracted. The woman who seemed to command the troops was an immaculately dressed woman who's hair was pulled into a severe bun a the back of her head. She seemed young but there was a hint of grey to the flaming ginger hair. Taliah guessed that the woman's hair was tied back so tight it pulled any wrinkles on her face smooth. The paladin stood on a stool in naught but her smallclothes as Gretchen looked her over.

"She doesn't have much of a figure to work with, Drusilla," Gretchen told the woman apologetically "And I know this is very short notice…"

"Short notice?" Drusilla gave the maid a glance that clearly states she thought Gretchen was out of her mind. "The day before the grandest ball of the season and you ask me to make a gown for the woman who saved Lord Mercer and who happens to be the first born of our King." The dressmaker circled Taliah as though taking inventory. "At least most of the scaring is low enough that the gown should cover it." Drusilla poked at her Taliah felt her temper begin to fray. Gretchen saw it as well.

"Well, just do what you can Drusilla. That's all we can ask." The dressmaker seemed to know a dismissal when she heard one and began to shoo her horde of helpers to the door. Gretchen offered Taliah a robe and the paladin belted it about her slim waist.

"Don't worry, my Lady." Drusilla advised "I'll have a gown by tomorrow afternoon that will make you look like one." The door closed behind her and Taliah shot Gretchen a look.

"I know she's a bit abrasive, but she's also the finest dressmaker in the city. The fact I could get her to come at all took a lot of string-pulling." Even the maid was a bit flustered as Taliah stepped down from the small stool. The paladin said nothing but Gretchen could tell by the slight frown to her brow and the tight skin about the woman's grey eyes to know Taliah was stressed. "There's no need for you to hang about the suites, my Lady. I'll oversee the rest of the preparations for tomorrow. Find somewhere to relax and I'll have lunch brought in a few hours."

Taliah gave the maid a grateful smile. As formidable as Gretchen could be, Taliah was beginning to grow a soft spot for the sometimes harpy-like maid. The paladin's bare feet made soft slapping sounds on the cool marble as she walked into her bedchamber to dress. She still wasn't sure how she felt about Kalvyn Havarbrook. Still in mourning for Joscelin and lonely since Necrucian seemed to be otherwise too occupied to come by and visit since the morning at the pond, the paladin was having trouble reconciling her emotions. She needed to clear her head.

Kal Havarbrook took the obsidian steps two at a time with a grin on his face and servants moved to either side of the great sweeping staircase to keep from impeding his progress. The sound of his boots on the stone seemed terribly loud and as he hit the top of the staircase, he slowed to a more sedate pace. His father's mansion had never felt like home, even when he was a boy growing up in it. A cold, seemingly impersonal place, other than servants and the men-at-arms in the small garrison on the grounds by the stable, there had only been three people living in more than forty rooms. Kal had been on his own since he was old enough to join the cavalry, and he felt almost like a stranger in the home he'd spent sixteen years of his life in. If not for his mother, he had his doubts that he'd ever have returned. As he traveled down the long, door-lined corridor, the few servants bowed their heads politely as he passed and when he arrived at his mother's chambers, he gave a quiet, polite knock. A familiar woman in grey nurse's robes answered and gave Kal a gracious smile. "Master Havarbrook, your mother will be so happy to see you." The woman took him by the hand and led Kal into the large sitting room.

She was seated in a large, plush reclining chair, looking so much older than her fifty-two years. Her hair, once the colour of spun gold, seemed thin and brittle, her face lined and tired, but when her blue eyes settled upon her first and only born, Mira Havarbrook's smile was like the dawn after the blackest night. "My boy!" her voice was thin and sounded as frail as she looked, and Mira held out her arms to greet her son.

"You look lovely this morning, mother." Kal smiled cheerfully, hiding his shock at her appearance. He hadn't been home in two months, but the woman had lost even more weight than the last time he'd seen her. The hearth was burning high and the room was almost stiflingly hot, despite the pleasant spring day just outside the large stain-glass windows. Pillows and blankets were piled upon and beneath her to keep her warm and comfortable.

"You never were a good liar." Mira said with a smile as Kalvyn knelt at the foot of the chair. A frail hand reached out and cupped his strong jaw, and both of his, strong and calloused, held hers gently.

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to visit more often." He said with sincerity "My duties have been keeping me busy, but I've leave so I'll visit whenever I can." He sat at her feet, as he did when he was a boy and held her hand gently.

"A little bird told me you've been busy." Mira gave him a conspiratorial wink and Kal glanced sidelong at his mother's nurse. The woman smiled innocently and busied herself at the hearth across the room. "Is she pretty?"

Kal laughed softly "Aye, she's pretty, but not in the soft, eyelash fluttering way the other noble born girls are 'pretty'." His lips pursed as he recalled Taliah's face easily in his mind's eye "She has Varian's black hair and grey eyes, and they can be cold as a winter night but ah, when she smiles…" He closed his eyes and his mother laughed. "There's a sadness there though, and considering her temper, I'm treading lightly."

"She sounds like a fiery little thing." Mira smiled and laughed "No wonder your father doesn't like her much, though I don't suppose she has any regrets about that." When Kal winced, his mother waved away his chagrin "From what my little bird tells me, he deserves what he got." There was no bitterness in his mother's words, only wry amusement that a woman had done the damage. Baen had never raised a hand against her, but after she'd taken sick, her 'little bird' had told her tales of young mistresses who'd displeased her husband and received a split lip or bruised cheek for their troubles. His mother's smile faded slowly and her countenance became serious. "You'll have to be cautious, Kalvyn. The girl is King Varian's blood – unless you really care for her, leave well enough alone." She warned "You know what politics here is like." Mira gave a soft, wet cough into a silken handkerchief.

Kal reached up and tucked a stray lock of wispy blonde-white hair behind his mother's ear. "I do care for her… I can tell from her eyes she's suffered greatly in the past, and yet she can still show such compassion for others." He pulled a folded piece of parchment from the breast pocket of his tunic and handed it to her. Mira's hands shook slightly as she took it and her blue eyes settled on the broken, waxen seal. It was grey, with the simple imprint of a fist. "I wrote to her this morning, asking if she would accompany me to the ball. This was her reply…"

"Ah, so the girl _is_ a paladin." The elderly-looking woman glanced at her son from over the parchment as she opened it. "And a Silver Hand, no less. I didn't know there were any left." The parchment was almost completely blank, save for the word 'Yes' written in neat script in the center. She gave a laugh "Ah my boy. What have you gotten yourself into."

"I don't know." Kal rose and kissed his mother's hand. The skin was like fine paper and he could see the veins and tendons beneath. "But whatever it is, it won't be boring." Gretchen had been kind enough to slip in a small note of her own, detailing the colour of the dress being crafted so that he could dress to match.

Mira handed her son back his letter and reached behind her neck with shaky hands. It was obvious the conversation had drained her and Kal's heart broke. No physician or healer had been able to discover the cause of his mother's decline, and for the last ten years he had watched her age and waste away. With difficulty, she opened the clasp of the braided platinum chain about her slender neck and pulled the pendant from her heavy dressing gown. A symbol of the Holy Light, perhaps an inch long, solid platinum but adorned with a spectacularly cut diamond in its center. As she held it up, the gem caught the light from the window and glowed as though alive. Mira pressed it into her son's hand with a smile.

"If this girl feels the same for you, give that to her." She said with a smile and waved him away when he tried to hand it back.

"I can't take this." His mother hand worn the treasured pendent for as long as he could remember, and if she was giving it to him, it could mean only one thing; that she believed her battle with the mystery illness was slowly drawing to a close.

"That pendent has been in my family for over a hundred years." Mira beckoned him to her and kissed her son's cheek. "Light willing, it will be for a hundred more." Kal returned the kiss and she looked up at him as he straightened. "Such a handsome man you've grown in to." There was pride in her voice "And a good, kind man." She smiled and shooed him away "You go and help that girl remember what it's like to be happy." Kal kissed her hand once more and the grey robbed nurse approached, opening the door for him and following him out into the hall.

"I do hope you'll visit again, sir." The nurse patted Kal's arm and while she smiled, it was sad. "I don't think it will be long before the Light calls her home."

"I'll be back tomorrow or the day after, Beth." He replied. The woman was almost like a second mother to him, having been with the family for as long as he could recall. She was a round, matronly woman with greying auburn hair and a kind, patient face.

"If her condition worsens, I'll send for you immediately." Beth squeezed his arm gently and Kal kissed her hand gratefully. She watched him walk away, putting the pendent in his breast pocket she could tell he was already mentally preparing himself for the her summons.

_Joscelin put his arm around her and they huddled in the dark barn beneath the one dry blanket the two paladins had between them. Taliah shivered with cold and fatigue as outside, the wind and rain tore at the old structure. "I'll have to risk a fire." Joss blew on his hands and fished around in his sodden pack for his tinder kit. "We'll die of cold if we don't."_

"What if they see?" Taliah coughed into her fist "The horses are played out. If they come for us, we'll not get far." The girl looked over at the two destriers whose heads hung low as they nosed through the pile of musty hay on the floor. Even in the dark she could see the steam rolling off both Valiant and Storm. The two horses stood side by side and shared the second blanket.

"_The weather is pretty foul. I don't think we'll have to worry about them tonight." The boy's voice was grim. The only settlements in Northern Lordaeron that were not crawling with undead were controlled by the Scarlet Crusade, who seemed as determined to find the two young paladins as Taliah and Joscelin were - not- to be found by Crusade. They had been running for three weeks, but it was becoming clear that between the Crusade itself and their paid agents, there would be no escape south. Their rations had run out a week before, and neither squire had eaten in days. "We'll have to take it easy on the horses. Between the two of them, I think they have four shoes left. If we push them to hard, they'll be dead lame in short order." Taliah said nothing in reply as Joss poked about the barn and gathered enough old broken boards and dry hay to start a fire. Taliah managed to find and kill half a dozen rats, which they gutted, skinned and affixed to the tines of a pitchfork to roast over the fire. _

"At least we won't go hungry tonight." Joss actually felt himself grin at the prospect of a meal. "A few candles, some wine…this might almost be romantic." Taliah said nothing in reply, only huddled shivering in silence.

"_We won't make it to Southshore, Joss." She finally spoke as she watched the rats roast over the fire. They were well fed, on what she didn't want to guess, and the fat popped and sizzled as it melted and dripped into the fire. Her words held a terrible, tired resignation. "I'm so tired of running. The next time they find us, I say we go down fighting." The boy looked over at her from beneath his shaggy red-gold hair before turning the pitchfork over. "Don't let them take me alive, Joss. Promise me. I won't let them take me back to him. I'll shove Peacemaker through my guts before I let them take me back." Taliah looked up at Joscelin with frightened, pleading grey eyes. _

_As much as Joss wanted to protest, he knew what Taliah asked would be a much kinder, more dignified end than the one that the thing masquerading as Saidan Dathrohan had planned for her. "They won't take us alive, Tali. I swear it, but it won't come to that. I have Faith." He put his arms around her and held the girl tight. _

_They ate their roasted rats in silence and after Joscelin had piled more wood within reach, the two squires curled into the blanket. Only the driving wind and rain disturbed the quiet of the barn. Taliah lay with her head upon Joss's chest while his arms encircled her protectively._

"_Taliah, I…" his voice was soft and uncertain in the dark. The floor beneath the blanket was rough and hard, but at least it was dry. It was so much less than what he wished he could give her, and told her so. She deserved so much more than the cards that fate had dealt them; they both did. They had both been forced into adulthood by the horrors of a war the Light had lost, but they had survived on their wits, cunning and courage. And their devotion to each other. "If I could, I'd take you away from all this to somewhere peaceful and green."_

"_I'm not sure such a thing exists anymore." Taliah replied sadly. "For all we know, the Crusade is right and they're the last unblighted people. Light, what if it's true? What if they really are the last of civilization?"_

"_No." Joscelin was adamant as he shook his head. "There is peace and green places left. We just have to go south to find them. We can't give up hope." The boy sat up and shuffled around to face her before offering his hand. Taliah let him pull her into a seated position and stifled a yawn. "Tali, I have something I want to ask you."_

_Taliah rubbed at her tired eyes and combed her fingers through her lank, matted hair as she looked up at him. Joscelin pulled the heavy silver ring from his left hand and held it up between them so that the firelight danced off its tarnished sides. "My father gave this to me the last time I was home, a week before Arthas returned to Capital City from Northrend." Joscelin had lost his entire family in the ensuing slaughter. The ring was his most prized possession and the only remaining reminder of his parents and siblings. Finely wrought in silver, the face held the symbol of the Silver Hand. The boy took her cold, thin hands in both of his and looked into her eyes. Taliah's brow furrowed and her lips parted to speak, but Joss shook his head and gave her hand a squeeze. "Please, just let me finish before I lose my nerve." Joss took a deep breath and forged on "I was going to wait another two summers before I asked you, but we both had to grow up long before we were ready, Taliah. We may only have a few days left in this world, or we may have a lifetime. Either way…" He held up the ring "…All I can offer you is love, loyalty and protection. I have nothing but this ring and my love for you. If you were to pledge yourself and your love to me, I would count myself the richest man in Azeroth. With this ring, I would bind myself to you, from this day unto death, if you will have me." _

_Taliah blinked as Joss's words sank in. He had been her first friend, and over the course of the last four years, their bond had only grown deeper. Had Lordaeron survived her Prince's return, what Joss was proposing would have been forbidden until her eighteenth year… but had Lordaeron survived, there would have been no need for Joscelin Harkness to pledge his love to her in an abandoned barn, either. The moment of silence stretched between them and the boy swallowed nervously._

_A smile Joss had never seen pulled at the girls lips and she squeezed his strong, calloused hands. "I was yours the day I told you 'I love you'." Taliah replied softly. She had never been good at conveying her emotions and putting them to words now was difficult. "I pledge my love and life to you, unto death." In the fire-lit gloom of the bar, amid the howling of the wind and rain that tore through a ruined land and despite being on the run from the Scarlet Crusade, Joscelin Harkness's smile was one of pure, immeasurable joy. He slipped the heavy ring onto her finger and pressed his lips to Taliah's in a slow, tender kiss._

"_We are one. Now and forever, Taliah…"_

The paladin stared down at the ring on her finger as the memory brought tears to her eyes and that terrible tight feeling of grief to her throat and chest. The ring had seen better days. Its once polished surface was scratched and dulled from the abuse it and its wearer had endured over the last five years and Taliah ran her thumb over the sigil of the Silver Hand on the ring's face. To her knowledge, she, Tirion Fordring and perhaps a half dozen others were all that remained of the once mighty and respected Order, the others dead, undead or alive but corrupted beyond redemption. Taliah wondered what life would have been like had things not gone completely to hell and wanted to despair.

She sat in the rose garden, trying to come to terms with her loneliness, guilt and the sadness that still held her heart prisoner. The paladin sat in the short, plush grass, her legs crossed and her hands resting on her knees. Taliah's closed her eyes and took a deep breath and tried to quiet her thoughts. It had been so long since she had sought simple communion with the Light through meditation, the paladin had difficulty with what had, in the past, been an easy exercise. With effort, Taliah concentrated on breathing slowly and letting her mind go blank. It took time to quiet her jumbled, rampaging thoughts and feelings, and Taliah was vaguely aware of the passage of it from the angle of the sun shining down upon her. Only after an hour of breathing and trying to relax did the Light finally come.

At first, she thought the warmth that gently settled about her was just the spring air and sunshine but when she slowly opened her eyes, Taliah found she was no longer in the rose garden. The paladin sat beneath an apple tree, its branches heavily laden with fragrant blossoms. She was on a hill overlooking an orchard and in the distance, beyond the towering defensive walls, she could see the late morning sun sparkling off the sea to the north. She recognized her surroundings; she was in the Scarlet Monastery compound, three weeks after Gavinrad's failed bid to protect the tomb of Kel'Thuzad in Andorhal. It was the day that she'd told Joscelin she loved him. Taliah squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to let emotion get the better of her, but felt the tears slide down her cheeks none the less. Their first year with the Crusade had been good, a time of healing, learning and innocent love. It was not until later that the seeds of corruption had begun to visibly taint the Order and they'd be forced to flee. Taliah did not know why the Light had brought here back to this place and time but she put her trust and faith in It. She let out a slow, shuddering breath, closing her eyes once more, and something brushed her cheeks to wipe the tears away.

When Taliah found the courage to slowly opened her eyes once more, Joscelin smiled at her. He sat before her, looking the same as he had the day before his death; strong-jawed, handsome and strong, his red-gold hair hanging half in his eyes in a way that had always made him look the rogue. She reached out to him tentatively and when he took her hand and placed it on his chest, she could feel the beating of his heart. He felt so real- strong and alive and Taliah knew she wasn't dreaming, but she knew he was not entirely real, either. The tightness in her throat threatened to choke her into silence and it took a moment for Taliah to compose herself enough to speak "I'm so sorry, my love."

"For what?" Joss wiped her tears away again and took both of her hands in his. "You've done nothing wrong." He gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. "Having feelings for another is not a betrayal of what we had."

"Then why do I feel so guilty?" she asked sadly. Reaching out, she ran her fingertips over the trimmed red beard that hugged his jaw. "We were supposed to grow old together, surrounded by a pack of rowdy, yelling grandchildren, or die at each other's side in battle." She tried to smile, but it felt forced and hollow.

"You feel guilt because you have not yet truly let me go." Joss pressed her hand to his cheek. There was no sadness in his features, only a peaceful calm. "Bolvar is right, you know. I don't expect you to go through life alone. Don't be afraid to love again Tali." The breeze ruffled his unruly hair and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. "Let me go, Tali. Holding onto the past will only cause you pain... and you've suffered enough for three lifetimes, love." His sky blue eyes looked into her grey ones. "Love and compassion resonate like the peal of cathedral bells through the Light, Taliah. What the horse soldier feels for you is genuine."

"I don't know if I'm ready to love another yet." Taliah replied truthfully. Joscelin and this place felt so real, but she knew it wasn't, not in a physical sense. Her body was still in the rose garden, sitting in the grass, and this was all playing out on some metaphysical plane. Never having been branded a deep thinker, Taliah tried not to wrap her head around the 'how', only the 'why'.

Joscelin gave her a sly smile but it was not without compassion. "Yes, you are. If you weren't you wouldn't feel guilty." He straightened, though she still held his hand between them. "Be free of your guilt and let your heart love again. Love me. Remember me. But let me go…"

Taliah's jaw clenched as though she were trying to lift a mountain and it took every ounce of will she possessed to slowly release his hands from hers. Joscelin gave her a proud smile. "Good bye, Taliah."

Taliah opened her eyes as though waking from a dream but the intense golden glow that limned her remained. The Light held her, lending healing and comfort to her wounded soul and the paladin welcomed it as though it were a long absent lover. In reply, it rushed into her as a river through a burst dam wall, both frightening and exhilarating, as though to test her courage. She did not seek to temper or restrain the Light, knowing it would not harm her. _Be at Peace, paladin_. The blessing sounded not so much like words as the gentle voice of delicate, crystalline chimes. _Love, grow strong in the Light and prepare yourself for what is to come._ As the Light withdrew the sensation lingered on her skin and in her mind like a lover's touch, leaving her flushed and breathless.

It took her a while to find just the right spot. It was well back from the main area of the rose garden and dominated by blood red blooms the size of a man's fist. Gretchen had said that red was the colour of respect, courage and sincere love. Taliah smiled fondly and took a knee before one of the heavily laden plants. Her fingers pressed into the soil, careful not to break any major roots and she gently burrowed her hand to the wrist into the moist black earth beneath the rose bush. The paladin slipped the silver ring from her finger and while she looked at it lovingly, the terrible sadness that had clung to her like a wet woollen cloak was finally absent. Taliah placed the ring into small hole and returned the soil. "Goodbye, Joscelin. And thank you."

"Taliah?" The paladin looked over her shoulder to see a rather confused looking Kalvyn Havarbrook glancing around as though wondering whom she was talking to. The paladin rose and brushed the dirt from her hand. While tears had reddened her eyes, the sadness that had dwelt in them was gone and for the first time she looked neither annoyed nor disinterested by his presence. Kal approached her with a gentle, concerned expression. "Are you all right?"

Taliah gave him a small but brave smile "I am now." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The smell of roses was heavy but not cloying and the paladin cleared her throat, giving the cavalry officer and apologetic look. "I so sorry for the way I've been treating you, Kal. I've been suspicious and angry, when all you've tried to do was be kind." She approached, offering her hand tentatively "Even Bolvar has vouched for your honour."

"He did? Really?" Kal blinked at her in surprised for a moment before he took her offered hand, not caring about the dirt that still clung to her skin and looked into her eyes "So this means we can be friends?" It had sounded so much better in his head before he blurted it out, and Kal felt instantly like an ass, but Taliah took pity on him as his thumb brushed away the last of her tears. His words were so hopeful sounding that Taliah couldn't help but laugh.

"I would be honoured to call you 'friend'." Taliah gave his hand a squeeze and smiled in a way that made a pleasant shiver crawl up his spine.


	9. Chapter 9

***Author's Note: **DANGER WILL ROBINSON! DANGER!** Enemy Within will be getting progressively darker and more adult oriented within the next few chapters. There will be coarse language (Taliah's a guttermouth. It's part of her charm.), violence that may be disturbing to some (who's up for some torture?) and there will be some sexual content (..I got nothing. Insert witty comment here). I'm not writing porn or erotica, so nothing will be of a gratuitous nature. I'm sorry if what may come is offensive to some, but trust me when I say it is necessary to tell Taliah's story. That being said, I'd like to thank my many readers who have stuck with me all these months. As I measure my self worth by my traffic and reviews, if you read, please take a moment to review/comment/critisize (Me luv u longtime!). _Regards ~ RT2.0_***

**Nine.**

Taliah lay back in the grass and looked up into the sky. Kal was at her side and the remains of their picnic lunch occupying a large swatch of chequered cloth not far away. It had taken some urging on Havarbrook's part to get her out of the city, but the paladin was glad she'd relented. Dressed in drab tans and greys, she was certain they had not been recognized as they'd ridden through Stormwinds gates, and it had felt a little thrilling to have escaped unnoticed.

Peacemaker was sheathed but lay in the grass at her side. Her boots were off and Taliah thrust her toes into the cool grass and listened to the sounds around her. Kal was a handbreadth to her left and had lapsed into thoughtful silence. The leaves above them shivered in the breeze and the woodland birds sang cheerfully. The tale that Taliah had just finished telling him, the battle at Light's Hope and of how she'd ended up in Stormwind, was sobering. Considering his own losses amounted to a few friends who'd fallen in the line of duty and a small fortune at the last officer's dicing night, it was hard to know how to respond to someone who'd seen and experienced so much death and suffering.

After a long moment, Taliah cracked an eye at him and raised a brow enquiringly "You're awful quiet, Kal. Have I finally managed to scare you off?" Lunch had been a pleasant assortment of small wheels of cheese, smoked fish, fresh baguettes and sweet apple wine. Taliah had been hesitant at first to tell her tale, but the wine had eventually loosened her tongue and Kal had gently urged her on. She had to admit it felt good to have someone to talk to again. She didn't tell him about her communion with the Light and her farewell to Joscelin in the rose garden. That was a memory she kept for herself.

"Nope." Kal glanced at her sidelong with a smile. His sabre lay in the grass beside him within easy reach. They were a miles outside the of the city walls, in a quiet meadow surrounded by a thick wood of young birch and poplar. He had his doubts anyone would bother him, and was certain that between the two of them, they could handle just about anything. "I'm not sure there's anything you could say to 'scare me off'."

"I have a son…?" her eyes still had not opened and her hands rested behind her head.

"_Adopted_ son. You mentioned that." Kal corrected with a chuckle and sighed. She was still testing his resolve, he could tell. "I like kids." Their horses grazed leisurely across the meadow, their bridles off and slung over the pommels of their saddles.

Taliah huffed out a breath, blowing an errant curl back into the cascading mane of black that wreathed her head. She felt a bit fuzzy between the ears from the delicious wine, but when Kal offered her another glass, Taliah couldn't refuse. She rolled onto her side and propped her head languorously on one arm and looked him over. Havarbrook seemed to be holding his alcohol better than the paladin was, but she was pretty sure he'd had more practice. Taliah knew she wasn't drunk, not yet, but if they finished off the second bottle, it was a good bet he'd be carrying her home. "So, now that you've gotten me to spill my wine-sodden guts all over the ground, what's your story, oh Captain my Captain?"

Kal, dressed as simply as she was though his clothing was obviously well tailored, just laughed and stretched out in the grass, copying her relaxed posture. She was so close, he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. Taliah's grey eyes were bright and mischievous with drink, and he found this bluff and loosened version of her usually high-strung personality both intriguing and refreshing. "Not much to tell, I'm afraid." Havarbrook replied softly with a shrug and began to tick off the more interesting events of his life on his fingers. "My father and I have never agreed on anything. Ever. I left home as soon as I could enlist, made lieutenant in a year. Saw action against the Blackrock in Lakeshire and most recently against the Defias. Made Captain five years ago and briefly made Major two years ago."

"Briefly?" Taliah was intrigued, her curious expression leaving no doubt she wanted to know the sordid details. Kal's blue-green eyes squinted in a wince as a rakish but somehow chagrined smirk tugged at his lips. She'd had enough male acquaintances within the Argent Dawn to know the look on his face well, and Taliah threw back her head in a soft knowing laugh. "Who's daughter was she?"

"General Miles Branigan's, commanding officer of my entire unit." Kal admitted with a sigh as though admitting some dirty little secret. When Taliah began to howl with laughter Kal feigned affront. "It wasn't my fault! Branigan and my father tried to arrange the marriage. She knew of course, but no one had deigned to tell _me_." He had no idea why he was telling Taliah this. This was normally not the kind of thing one discussed with a woman they were romantically interested in. If he'd had this conversation with any other noble-born woman he knew, she would have been appalled and probably never spoken to him again. When it was apparent that Taliah was under no such prudish restraints, he forged on, albeit reluctantly. "So, not knowing what the hell was going on, I ride into Stormwind after almost a year of hard fighting and desperately needing to remember what 'living' felt like." Kal cleared his throat and felt his cheeks grow warm "When you've been on the frontier for ten months with no one for company but a bunch of tired, rarely washed soldier, you tend not to ask too many questions when someone of the fairer sex offers to uh...well… help you remember there's more to life than being cold, sore and afraid." Kal grimaced as though someone had just punched him hard in the shoulder, and Taliah tried hard to look more supportive and stop laughing. She failed. Miserably. The paladin couldn't say what she found more amusing, Kal's obvious discomfort or his attempt to tell the story while still trying to sound like a gentleman. "Apparently what I thought was a recreational tumble was something a bit more meaningful to her." A wisp of cloud passed overhead and Kal ran a hand down his face as Taliah wiped away tears of mirth. "Needless to say when I found out about the arrangement, I refused Celia Branigan's hand and the General was less than pleased. I was busted down to Captain and got another three long months of riding scout patrols in the Lakeshire hills for my troubles."

"Men..." The paladin chided gently. The attempted entrapment was obviously grossly unfair, but it was still pretty amusing. "Even I know the 'Golden Rule' - No matter what your trade, never sleep with the boss's daughter until after you marry her." Taliah took pity on him, but he could tell it was taking all of her willpower not to burst out laughing. "Was she pretty, at least?"

"Aye, she wasn't bad." He admitted and the devilish grin returned, revealing his straight white teeth. "She could do the most intriguing things with her tongue, but I'm not going to be drawn in to some political marriage of my father's designs. I was rather …upset… when I finally found out what the hell was going on. I haven't spoken more than a handful of words to him since."

"Do women normally throw themselves at you?" Taliah asked innocently enough and flicked a blade of grass at him. Kal was easy enough on the eyes; he was handsome and athletic with an easy, sometimes devilish smile and laughing blue-green eyes. He was broad of shoulder and chest, strong but not bulky with muscles but he had thighs like oak trees from long hours in the saddle. It took more self-control than she wanted to admit to keep her eyes from wandering.

Kal laughed and slowly reached across the narrow distance between them, tucking a stray curl back behind Taliah's ear. As the son of one of the most powerful nobles in Stormwind, he'd had his choice of willing girls, both noble and common, over the years. "It's tradition for men to be the 'hunters'." He admitted "Noble born girls tend to show their interest with a bit more subtlety." Kal batted his eyes and gave her a rather demure look in demonstration that, when applied to a ruggedly handsome male face, was enough to send Taliah into a fit of laughter once more. "For the noble born, courtship tends to be a dull, drawn out thing acted out publicly like some kind of territorial claim; usually on a pre-arranged basis to solidify family alliances." He made a face "You go to parties, you dance, you go to more parties, you pretend to enjoy yourself, and usually all in the company of some old harridan who's acting as a chaperone to ensure you don't have too good a time."

"Really?" Taliah took another deep sip of wine and her eyes played over Kal's face as he watched her in turn with mild amusement. "That seems terribly boring." Havarbrook wondered if she'd noticed her voice had grown enticingly low and soft. He definitely had. Kal was immensely cheered by their closeness, but Taliah had yet to initiate any contact other than the holding of his hand that morning. When he'd found her in the garden, red eyed and tear stained, he'd wanted nothing more than to put his arms around her, hold her close and offer comfort. Kal knew he was more than a little smitten with the unusual woman, to the point the paladin was beginning to be a pleasant presence in his dreams, but he still wasn't certain about how she felt about him. The wine was obviously affecting her somewhat, and Havarbrook decided caution was warranted. He'd once made a questionable judgement call with the daughter of a general and paid for it. Doing the same with the daughter of his King would likely be carry much more dire consequences.

"In the North, things are different." Taliah's fingers reached out and stroked the close, neat red-gold beard that hugged his jaw. "We tend to live every day like it's our last, as there's a real danger that it very well could be." A small, sad smile of a memory pulled at her lips. "If you're fortunate enough to find love, you tend to not care that you're surrounded by an encamped army." Her voice and thoughts seemed far-off and Kal remained quiet. "There's no shame or trepidation in the tent at night, and no one will say anything to you in the morning, though you know they heard you." Taliah seemed to come back to herself and her cheeks reddened in an appealing blush. "Sorry, I think the wine is getting to me-"

Kal smiled and pressed his cheek gently into her hand, but as he was about to speak, Taliah's fingers pressed to his lips and her eyes suddenly grew narrow, her brows drawing down in suspicion. When Kal gave her an enquiring look, the paladin put a finger to her ear. Kal remained silent and listened, but all he heard was the rustle of the leaves. The forest birds and animals had gone silent.

Taliah glanced across the meadow at the horses. Both Twelfth Regiment remounts, their heads were up, nostrils flared and ears pricked. The wind was in the remounts favour and they both stared at the treeline to the north. The Captain got quietly to his feet and the suddenly much more sober paladin followed suit, sheathed weapons in hand. The sudden twang of a bowsting and the whistle of air through an arrow's fletching made Kal instantly step protectively in front of Taliah. The deadly projectile sailed close enough to his ear that Kal could feel the fletching brush the side of his throat. Had he not moved to protect Taliah, it would have speared him through the adam's apple. The two soldiers drew their weapons as four cloaked figures in chainmail and boiled leather materialized like green and brown clad ghosts from the foliage that bordered the meadow. They were armed with various weapons and they moved aggressively, confident in their numbers. "Come no closer." Havarbrook stood tall in challenge, sabre in hand. Taliah stepped fearlessly from behind him, Peacemaker glinting in the afternoon sun, and silently cursed herself for having taken off her boots.

"Give us the girl and you can be on your way, mate." The biggest of the four glowered at Kal before his eyes slid over Taliah and he jerked his chin in her direction "She's the only one we want."

Kal's eyes flashed in outrage, but before he could spit a challenge, Taliah beat him to it. "Or…" The paladin replied coolly "You leave empty handed and glad as hell we didn't kill you." Beside her, Kal's sidelong glance seemed to enquire to the state of her sanity.

The big man turned to the short, slender one with the long, powerful bow and smirked. "Feather him up good and proper, Ned. Just don't hit the girl."

As the one called Ned nocked another arrow, Taliah stepped in front of Kal, who looked more surprised than afraid, and as the bowman let fly, a bright, protective sphere of golden Light flared around the two. The arrow sped across the few dozen yards between them and the brigands, only to break against the ethereal shield that glittered briefly before whisping away in a golden mist. While the arrow had not penetrated, the immense force of its impact was like a punch to the sternum that almost doubled Taliah over. The brigands jaws hung open in momentary surprise, and when Taliah recovered, looking up at them from beneath her brows. "Bugger this!" The bowman shot a frightened glance their leader. "He didn't say nothing bout no paladin." The bowman, either the smarter or more cowardly of the group, broke and ran, disappearing into the brush. Kal watched as Taliah took a step forward, Peacemaker coming up slowly into an aggressive, two-handed ready position.

"You want me?" she asked coldly and her eyes flared momentarily with white fire as she called on the Light. "Come get me."

Pryn gave a sharp whistle and directed a noticeably wary Horst and Grumel to the blond man at the young woman's side. This was supposed to have been a simple job and Ned had been right – their employer had said nothing about their target being a damn paladin, only that when and if they found her, she would be armed. With Ned having just up and run off, it left them facing an irritated paladin without ranged support, and he cursed the man mentally in the foulest terms he could conjure. His remaining men spread out, forming an ever-closing noose about the two. The man who'd hired them had advised that the girl been seen with Havarbrook's son, and that they sometimes dressed simply to slip unnoticed from the palace. Ned, coward that he was, had spotted them first and followed them out of the city, silently calling his compatriots to him with small, enchanted 'meeting stones' they'd coerced some years ago from a young, drunken mage. When hidden in the hand and held against the lips, any words uttered would emblazon themselves across the face of the stone and cause it to grow warm enough to be felt through whatever pocket or pouch it was kept in. Ned's simple message of 'Corsel's Meadow' had pulled Pryn and his men from a losing round of dicing at an inn and led them to this place. He gave the woman a leering grin and her lip curled in a silent snarl. "That's a pretty sword you got there, girl." His two steel broadswords were drab in comparison, but he knew well enough that they held an edge easily able to take a head from a pair of shoulders.

The noose became smaller and Kal took up a position behind her to guard Taliah's back. "I'm glad you like it." The paladin told him with a sneer. "You're going to get a very close look at it when I bury it in your guts." With a laugh, Pryn and his men closed the distance and blades flashed and sang in the sunlight. He took the paladin head-on, half hoping she would lose her nerve and fall back, but instead she stepped into his heavy downward strike, surprisingly pugnacious considering he towered over her. The paladin batted his right sword away and parried the left when he lunged. She recovered and recoiled, fending off Horst to her right, stepping into his attack and moving so that he was between herself and Prin before he could flank her. When Horst struck at her again, the paladin parried savagely, knocking his sword wide and burying her bare heel into the man's groin. Horst gave a surprised howl of pain and doubled over, but the woman was unrelenting. Her riposte caught him square in the belly and the paladin took the sword in a two-handed grip, pulling the blade in a sharp, diagonal stroke that disembowelled the now shrieking man.

Kal could feel Taliah at his back and the two moved together as though they had been practicing this for years, each defending the other's back and flank. His opponent, the one called Grumel, harried him hard with sword and dagger. His cavalry sabre was more a slashing and stabbing weapon as opposed to Taliah's elegant hand-and-a-half that could easily hack off a limb, but Kal Havarbrook had been drilling with one since he was sixteen years old. Grumel, a stinking, sharp-featured rat of a man with small, cruel eyes, was quick and cunning, able to use his sword to keep Kal's sabre occupied while he tried to gut him with the dagger. The rogue lunged at him and when Havarbrook swatted the blade aside and dodged, Grumel slipped past him and interpose himself between Kal and the paladin to drive them apart. Meanwhile, Pryn worked Taliah relentlessly; his strikes were bone-jarring but tightly controlled, meant to tire and weaken her but not to kill. He had managed to carve a couple of lines upon her, one to the chest and another upon her thigh that stained her clothing crimson. Unwilling to leave the paladin undefended, Havarbrook moved aggressively and while he deflected Grumel's sword easily enough, he realized too late the man had used the Captain's desire to protect the woman against him. Grumel's dagger sheared through his shirt and drew a line deep across his ribs. He felt the dagger blade scrap and grate across the bones of his ribcage and the wound bled fiercely, soaking his torn shirt. Kal put a hand to his injury as his ratty-looking assailant grinned through rotting teeth.

Taliah heard Kal grunt in pain and caught a glance at Grumel from the corner of her eye. Turning as she moved away from Pryn, Peacemaker came around in an abrupt upwards ark meant to take Grumel's dagger-hand off at the shoulder. The man twisted away and tore off his roughspun wool cloak to toss it in the paladin's face, sneering when she side-stepped the smelly garment and ran right into Pryn. Taliah connected with the wall of flesh and the big man spun, catching her in the head with his elbow. The blow sent the paladin to her knees and when she tried to dive forward, her bare feet slipped in the grass made slick from Horst's blood.

"Taliah!" Kal caught Grumel's left wrist in a crushing grip while his sabre blade locked in the dagger's upward-curling quillon. The man may not have been physically imposing, but he was stronger than he looked and Havarbrook could not pull his weapon free. The paladin rolled onto her back and posted her hands to either side of her head before jerking her knees to her chest and she unleashed a double-barrelled kick any mule would have been proud of. Her heels drove into Pryn's guts and the air left his lungs in a great rush as bile burned up this throat. Again she jerked her knees towards her face as the big man staggered back and as she kicked out again at empty air, her body arched to land the paladin on her feet in a crouch.

Her eyes locked onto Grumel, still grappling with Kal only a few strides away. Peacemaker came up and the rogue panicked, releasing the blade-lock to ward off the paladin's aggressive sword thrust while he tried to twist away from Havarbrook. With his sabre freed, Kal's arm jerked back and then shpt forward before Grumel could break the Captain's grip about his wrist. The slender sabre found its target, the gap between the man's boiled leather breastplate and his arm and Kal sank the blade to the hilt before jerking the weapon free.

Pryn roared like an angry bull, charging the blond-haired man that had just cut down his younger brother and Kal turned as the big man bore down on him. The officer backed away in surprise, the wound above his belly still pulsing blood, and Pryn's swords hack at him. Quick as a striking viper, Taliah slid between them and Peacemaker drew an ugly but shallow line across the man's armoured belly before he could fully recoil. His right blade scored a shallow bleeding line along her flank and he turned on her as the paladin twisted away. With a mighty swing, he caught Taliah in the base of the skull with the flat of his blade and she dropped like a stone. The paladin clawed at the ground, dazed and seeing stars.

Pryn suddenly staggered as though he'd just been punched in the back and Taliah scrambled to her feet, shaky and awkward, as the brigand looked down at himself. A foot of bloodied steel protruded though the front of his chest at heart-level. "This was …supposed to be an ….easy job…" the man looked genuinely confused. The swords fell from his hands as Pryn touched the point of Kal's sabre as though wondering how it had gotten there. The cavalryman jammed his foot into the back of the big man's knees and forced him to the grass. As he measured his length upon the ground, Kal moved with him, shoving the sabre deeper into his back and giving it a hard twist before yanking the weapon from both the ground and the twitching corpse. The mercenary gave a hideous shudder and then moved no more.

Taliah panted for breath as she went down on one knee, blinking as though she had sand in her eyes and wiped the sweat from her face with her sleeve. Kal sat down hard beside her, winded and tired, covered with blood and sweat. His shirt was gashed and his belly was red and slick with blood. Havarbrook's jaw was set in pain as he wiped his sabre's blade on the dead man's tunic. He put a hand to his ribs and it came away red but his concern was all for Taliah. "Are you all right?" Her head throbbed rhythmically with the beat of her heart and her rattled brains felt like pudding between her ringing ears. Taliah tried to call on the light, but the terrible pain in her skull that made her vision waver made it hard for her to focus on anything.

"I'll live." She rasped and put a hand to Kal's wound. She unbuttoned what was left of his shirt and moved it away from the long gash across his chest. Glints of white bone shone through along the path of the wound and Havarbrook realized he'd been lucky. A few inches lower and the dagger would have opened his belly, likely spilling his lunch, not to mention his guts, onto the ground.

"If you wanted to get my shirt off, there are easier ways." His muscles tensed in pain and he sucked a hissing breath through his teeth. Peacemaker fell to the bloodied grass, forgotten as Taliah closed her eyes in a fit of agonizingly illusive concentration. The Light came, but it was terribly hard to focus it properly and trying to do so only made her head feel as though it would explode. Kal watched in growing alarm as sweat beaded heavily on her forehead as though she were trying to push a boulder the size of an oxcart up a hill. "Taliah, don't-"

"Shut it." She growled. Though the sun shone hot and high above, the paladin could hear the ping of the cold, driving rain off armour, and saw not Kal but Joscelin lying in the foul, sucking mud at Brownman Mill, drowning in his own blood as she knelt at his side, powerless to save him. Taliah gave a cry of despair as a spike of nearly debilitating pain shot through her skull. _No. I won't lose another like I lost him!_

As Kal watched, her hands began to glow with a gentle golden light that intensified to an almost blinding white and Havarbrook felt like someone had just eased him into a warm, soothing bath. His pain ebbed and the wound stopped bleeding, knitting slowly together and leaving a tender pink scar behind, but to his alarm, twin lines of crimson slid from Taliah's nostrils and down her chin, while a matching set began a slow journey from her ears and down the sides of her neck. Taliah's face was strained. The tendons and muscles of her neck stood out in sharp relief against her throat as she struggled with the Light, and it was then that he noticed the back of her neck was drenched in blood. "Taliah?" Kal reached out in alarm, taking her firmly by the wrist "Taliah, stop!" She didn't seem to be listening, or perhaps she could not hear him, and only when the wound had closed complete did the warmth and Light withdraw. When it did, the paladin slumped forward against him, her head resting against his chest and smearing his ruined shirt with more blood.

The hair at the back of her head was matted with blood and Kal felt his gut knot in fear. He gently rolled Taliah onto her back and felt at her throat, desperate for a pulse. He could feel it, just barely and he looked about desperately for their horses, fearing they'd run off. Battle trained, they had merely milled restlessly during the fight and Havarbrook thanked the fates he'd decided to bring them instead of something from the royal stables as Taliah had suggested. The Captain gave a sharp 'reunite' whistle and the horses approached at a trot, obedient but wary. They were small and light, possessing great speed, agility and endurance, perfect for the cavalry work they'd been bred for. Though he was tired and weakened from battle and loss of blood, Kal hurriedly bridled the faster of the two. He hoisted the paladin's limp form onto the chestnut's back and then climbed up behind her before pulling Taliah into a cradled position against him. Havarbrook held her tightly and turned the beast's head towards Stormwind and with a hiss, sent it off at a gallop.

The gates of Stormwind towered above the inbound and outbound traffic and cast long shadows in the mid-afternoon sunlight. With the various celebrations set to take place the next day, the flow of goods and people into the walled and fortified city far outweighed that which was leaving. With four hours left until he was relieved by the next shift, Yurgin Pollit could have sworn he'd seen the immense hands of the great clock tower above the Valley of Heroes actually move backwards as though to mock him.

While the day was bright and sunny to the civilian population whose goods and wagons he checked for anything suspicious, to Yurgin, clad in the steel armour of the city guard, it was like being roasted in an oven, despite the fact he was standing in the shade. He cast a glance at the stoic face of General Marcus Jonathan, bare headed and astride a shiny black destrier, and wished to possess whatever wondrous magic or adaption kept the man from ever seeming to sweat. Though he was clad in a full suit of armour, the general refused to give the heat the satisfaction of making him shed moisture. _Bloody knights_. Yurgin gave the peasant woman's vegetable cart a cursory glance before waving her through and cursed the general's aloof and dashing appearance, right down to his thick and immaculately groomed auburn beard.

Things had been much too quiet for the last two weeks and General Marcus Jonathan was concerned. Over the last year there had been resurgence in difficulties with the Defias Brotherhood, but for the last fortnight they had seemingly crawled back under whatever rotted log had birthed them in the first place. While many on the Council and among his ranks welcomed the quiet, Marcus did not. Quiet was dangerous.

The destrier beneath him shifted, giving a great, bored sigh and the general wondered if the beast was as uncomfortably hot as he was. With a squeeze of his legs, the heavy stallion strode forward at a slow, arrogant pace and his rider steered him down side of the still crowded road. Marcus decided he'd be rather glad when the Noble Garden events came to a conclusion the next day and the traffic would return to a more normal level. Two weeks of searching goods and people entering the city, and finding nothing, was making his men complacent. The breeze picked up slightly, ruffling his short red hair, but over the creak of wagons, the rustle of leaves and the sounds of people on the move, the General caught the faint sound of shod hooves thundering up the hard dirt road. His destrier heard it as well and the stallion's ears pricked forward. Marcus could see the horse and rider in the distance and though they were a half-mile off, he could tell by the bobbing of the galloping horse's head that it was exhausted. _What the hell?_ If the horse and rider continued on their course, they would reach the back of the line of those waiting to enter the city. In a procession of wagons and people, panic would beget panic and he knew he was going to end up with a stampede of peasants, oxen and equines if he did not act. Not knowing exactly what to expect, Marcus drew his sword, shouted a warning to the dozen of his men manning the gate, and sent his destrier off at a rolling gallop to intercept.

The sound of his mount's pounding hooves and the breath roaring from its distended, bleeding nostrils was all Kal could hear. The gelding's normally coppery coat had become a dull, muddy brown from sweat and everywhere that anything rubbed against its hide was wreathed in a thick lather. Despite ten miles at a dead run, the little gelding had not slowed or faltered, nor needed any urging to keep up what would certainly result in a fatal pace. It seemed to sense Kal's desperate urgency and true to its breeding and training, was ready and willing to run itself to death in the service of its master.

Havarbrook held Taliah close and glanced down at the paladin. Her face had gone white and where her head rested against his chest, the torn shirt was soaked crimson with her blood. At first he feared her dead, but when he felt the weak wash of warm air from her nostrils against his chest Kal silently rejoiced. _Stay with me, Taliah. We're almost home... _He was reaching the tail end of the line to enter the city, still a quarter mile distant and he had to steer the exhausted gelding to the side of the road to keep from running people down.

As Kal looked up the road, he saw the massive black destrier galloping towards him. The big animal kicked up a cloud of dust in his wake and Havarbrook heard the deep, challenging shout of the armoured knight upon its back. Some distance behind be approaching knight, a quartet of riders was on the way as back up. As the armoured man drew closer, Kal could make out his red hair and polished armour, as well as the naked bastard sword in his hand. There was no mistaking Marcus Jonathan when you saw him, and when a man that imposing ordered someone to stop, they were quick to comply. Kal sat back and the gelding slid to a stop, almost colliding with the much taller and wider destrier.

"What in the seven hells is goin-" Marcus roared and turned his mount broadside to block the man on the smaller horse while the point of his blade was levelled at the man's throat. The poor charger was terribly blown and lathered, swaying beneath its burden. Both the man and the woman he held protectively were bloodied and injured but the girl in the rider's arms was deathly pale, the flesh around her eyes darkened as though bruised.

"General" Kal panted "Captain Havarbrook of the Twelfth." The General raised a bushy brow, his sharp green eyes quickly catching the military brand on the gelding's shoulder despite it being darkened by sweat. "We were attacked at Corsel's Meadow and she's gravely wounded. I have to get her to the palace."

Marcus' destrier shifted restlessly as the four mounted guards arrived, their steeds jostling and snorting behind him as their cloud of dust caught up with them. The General looked down at the bloodied girl in Havarbrooks arms and felt his guts sink into his boots. The young woman's black hair, squarish chin and broad shoulders looked too much like his King's to be coincidence and while he hadn't seen Taliah, he'd heard enough stories to known her when he saw her. "Light in Heaven." Marcus sheathed his sword and reached down. "Give her to me, boy. Your mount is done." Kal didn't hesitate, handing Taliah's still, limp form to the General who wheeled his mount. "Corporal!" He bellowed "Give that man your horse." Marcus didn't wait to watch his order carried out. "The rest of you, I want the streets to the palace cleared and the healers waiting."

Varian grinned at his son as the boy told him about his fencing lesson, miming his tale with his fork. "Master Varlus says I've improved since last week." Anduin told him with all the pride a normally quiet and humble nine-year-old boy could muster. Jaina Proudmoore smiled at the boy in a decidedly matronly and indulgent way. She'd arrived in time for a late, leisurely lunch in Varian's quarters and the Prince had been overjoyed to see her.

"Keep working at it, son." The boy was _terrible_ with a sword, and combat did not seem to suit his temperament, but Varian reminded himself his son was only nine and hoped Anduin would eventually become more proficient. Still, the boy had made progress and Varian gave him a proud smile.

The first course, a delicious seafood bisque, had just been served but Anduin seemed troubled by the fourth, empty place setting at the square table. "Isn't Taliah coming?" The prince looked disappointed and even a little hurt.

Jaina's blue eyes blinked in surprise, though it took her a moment to put a face to the name. "She's here?" The mage hadn't seen Varian's first-born since that terrible day at Stratholme nine years ago. It felt like a lifetime ago and brought back memories she only wished she could purge from her mind. Jaina remembered only too well the then thirteen-year-old squire's cold, solemn eyes and stony expression as she'd retreated with Uther, Gavinrad and the rest of the Silver Hand. They had refused their Prince's order to march upon the city, their home, that Arthas claimed had been infected with the Plague. He'd accused them of treason and ordered them to disband.

"She arrived a fortnight ago, escorting a deathknight with news from Lordaeron." Varian wiped at his mouth with a linen napkin and held up a hand at the woman's look of disquiet "I'll explain later." He assured her "The story is… involved." Those were his words, but Jaina could read their meaning. It wasn't something he wanted to discuss in front of his young son.

"She's a paladin, like uncle Bolvar." Anduin beamed, obviously proud. "I met her in the park, but I didn't know who she was, but I heard she stopped a runaway carriage and said something to the Council that made them all angry. The guards talk about it all the time when they think no one is listening." The boy rattled on excitedly but went back to his soup when Varian gave him a gentle but stern glance. The boy poked at his soup for a long moment "Father, why didn't she come to lunch with us?"

When Jaina's glance drifted to the untouched place-setting that had obviously been meant for Taliah, Varian took a moment to finish his bisque before addressing the question. "She's been gone since morning, son." Wrynn told the boy gently "We'll see her at the ball tomorrow." The boy hadn't seen her since the day she'd found him feeding the fish in the royal park. Varian hadn't seen the girl himself since she'd nearly caused a riot at the last Council meeting. He'd gone to her chambers that morning to invite her, but Gretchen had regretfully informed him that she hadn't seen Taliah since ten bells that morning, when she'd left to go riding. Varian had, for some reason he could not say, got the feeling that Gretchen was not telling him everything, but he'd been too busy that morning to enquire further.

They were just settling into the second course of savoury venison and wild mushroom pie when Varian heard the muffled sound of boots and the clatter of armour racing up the corridor outside. He could tell Jaina heard it as well, but before either could push away from the table, the heavy door of his private chambers burst open without warning. "Sire!" a breathless, red-faced palace guard gasped and leaned against the door as though he might collapse from exertion, and it was obvious the man had run a long way. "Lady Taliah has been injured."

In the bedchamber, Kal and Bolvar Fordragon watched as the royal physician and a priestess of the Light, a gifted healer in her own right, bent over Taliah's prone form. The two small tables at the head of the bed bore as many lanterns as they could possibly hold, but beyond where Taliah lay, the room was distressingly dark. Havarbrook felt helpless as he watched the two work on the paladin's still, pale form. The skin about her eyes was blackened and the blood that had trailed from her nose and ears had been wiped away. Taliah's cascading ebony mane had been swiftly shorn to reveal the extent of her injury and the long, thick curls lay in a forlorn pile at the physician's feet. Kal heard a soft sniffle to his left and knew it was Gretchen; the maid was beside herself with worry and wiped at her tears with a white handkerchief. She glanced nervously at the far corner of the bedchamber and Kal followed her gaze. His brow furrowed as he squinted into the deep shadows and could barely make out the back-armoured man leaning against the wall. He dwarfed everyone in the room, including Bolvar, and stood still as stone, his arms crossed over his wide, powerful chest. When two cerulean slits slowly appeared where the man's eyes should have been, Kal felt his mouth go dry. _Necrucian…_ he thought _it has to be…_He'd never seen the reclusive deathknight, but Taliah had described him, in rather fond detail, when she'd told him the tale of her ordeal to bring Mograine's messenger to Stormwind. Considering his size, Kal hadn't even seen the deathknight slip into the room, though admittedly he'd been too preoccupied worrying about Taliah. When Havarbrook realized the deathknight was watching him in almost predatory, malevolent silence, he could almost feel the air between them turn cold. Bolvar seemed to notice it as well and took Havarbrook gently but firmly by the arm in an attempt to get him to focus. "Kal, what happened."

"We were in Corsel's Meadow and were attacked by four men." Kal's mind was racing and found he actually had to struggle to recall what happened. "There were four; kill three, the fourth ran off ." Havarbrook's look became troubled and bewildered "I think they were mercenaries. They wanted her alive." he confided, leaning towards Bolvar and keeping his voice low.

Before Bolvar could question Kal further, Varian Wrynn burst into the bedchamber with enough force the door hit the wall with a loud crack, its polished brass handle leaving the marble behind it chipped. The Highlord went to his King immediately and put a restraining hand to the man's powerful shoulder. "They're doing all they can for her." He told Wrynn in a calm, controlled voice. Behind Varian's broad shoulder, Bolvar saw Jaina Proudmoore just outside the door comforting an obviously distraught Anduin. With effort, Fordragon steered Wrynn to the door and jerked his head at Kal, motioning for him to follow.

The receiving room seemed cramped though there were only four people occupying it and Kal felt out of place. All he wanted was to be with Taliah, to watch over her and wait for those grey eyes to open again. Instead, he found himself skewered by another pair of cold grey orbs, though these belonged to her father. "Who the hell are you?" Varian demanded and Kal bowed his head.

"Captain Havarbrook, of the Twelfth Regiment, Your Majesty." Kal's mouth felt suddenly dry as Bolvar gave a firm glance over his shoulder at him as though advising the Captain to be cautious.

"Taliah and the Captain were attacked outside the city. I'll dispatch riders to investigate." Bolvar assured, but Varian's narrowed gaze was locked on Havarbrook. Fordragon's old friend had come a long way in managing his anger in the last few years, but threats to his family seemed to easily unravel the progress Wrynn had made.

"You're Baen Havarbrook's son…" Varian's eyes narrowed dangerously as he looked Kal up and down and his words came out like an accusation. "Why, exactly" Varian's deep voice lowered to a growl and he strode slowly towards Kal "were you outside the protection of the city with my daughter and no armed escort?" Wrynn thought he heard Jaina call his name, but he ignored her and stood toe-to-toe with Havarbrook, looking down at the shorter man in a way that made the Captain glance to Bolvar nervously as though for instruction or support.

"Please believe me when I say that had I thought there was any real danger, I would not have tried to persuade Taliah to leave the city." He hadn't felt so guilty about anything in his life. Had he not cajoled rather insistently that some quiet time under a sunny sky would do her spirit some good, Taliah would have been more than happy to have had lunch with him in her chambers. After finding her in a much more accepting mood in the royal garden, Kal had been nearly overcome by the reckless desire to help her try and adapt to a place she seemed somewhat unsure of and uncomfortable with. He'd wanted to spend time with her, away from the prying eyes of the palace, and get her to perhaps see that there was more to the kingdom than just the confines of the city. The price for the pleasant lunch they had shared and his hubris, he decided, had been far too high.

Varian's big hands curled into fists and Jaina could see that Bolvar was preparing to intercede physically on Captain Havarbrook's behalf. Anduin clung to her side and she put a comforting arm about the boy's slim shoulders. The room had fallen deathly silent for a moment as Wrynn struggled to temper his outrage, and when the door to the bedchamber opened, it was a strange sort relief. The relief was short lived, as the look on the royal physician's face made Jaina's blood run cold.

"How is she?" the king demanded, suddenly seeming to forget that Kal existed, for which Havarbrook was immensely thankful. The physician, a fit man in his sixties with a clean-shaven face but possessing eyebrows that resembled woolly white caterpillars, took a deep breath and seemed to carefully weigh his words before speaking. His white and blue robes were smeared with crimson, as were his hands, and he wiped them on a clean towel. Behind him, Necrucian slipped quietly into the receiving room, his stoic, expressionless gaze passing over Jaina, who paled slightly on seeing him.

"Your Majesty" Arilius Traent's distinguished, if a bit wrinkled face, was grave. "She had suffered what is called a 'basilar' skull fracture. There was significant bleeding and swelling in the rear lobe of the brain." Traent's outward expression was professionally calm, but inside, he dreaded giving his king this news. He had been the physician to the house of Wrynn since the days of King Llane, before the razing of Stormwind, and had watched Llane's young heir weather tragedy after tragedy. Having to give him the news of Taliah's condition was heartbreaking. "She is breathing on her own, but is otherwise unresponsive." He watched as Lady Proudmoore's hand covered her mouth in dread and saw his prince's wide blue eyes well up with tears as he turned his face and pressed it to Jaina's robes.

"When will she awaken?" Varian asked thickly. It was like reliving Tiffin's death all over again, when during a riot, a jagged rock had sailed out of the crowd and struck his beautiful, gentle young queen in the head. He'd had no doubts the projectile had been meant for him, and having watched her steadily decline, still and unmoving in the bed they had once shared, had made her death three days later even harder to bear.

"Your Majesty…" The elderly physician's hands were clasped low and apologetically before him and when he spoke again, his voice was soft and sad "Neither Sahira nor myself are certain she will. We have managed to stop the bleeding. Sahira will remain with to Taliah and do what she can over the next few hours to control the swelling, but as of now, there is little I can do for the girl, other than change her dressings regularly and try to ensure she does not decline."

Varian seemed to weather the news almost dispassionately, but Jaina had known him long enough that she could tell when Wrynn's seemingly calm outward appearance was only masking his roiling emotions. "Bolvar." Wrynn's voice was cold and measured "Get _that_ out of my sight." He stabbed a finger in Kal Havarbrook's direction without looking at the man. "I want to know who did this and why. And when you find them…" his voice slid into a growl "I want their heads displayed on the ramparts for all to see." Bolvar nodded curtly but said nothing, but before he could surreptitiously indicate to Kal to withdraw, Necrucian strode purposefully toward the Captain. The deathknight took him by the back of the neck in what was obviously a painfully powerful grip and escorted him roughly out the door.

Kal hit the corridor wall as the door to Taliah's chamber closed behind the deathknight. When he turned around angrily to face the man in black plate, Necrucian's hand shot out and took him by the throat. The deathknight easily lifted Kal off his feet and slammed him against the wall again. The corridor was full of guards, from both the city watch and the palace, eager for word as to Taliah's condition. News of what she'd done for Greshion and his family had endeared her to them. When tales of her confrontation with the Council had reached the rank and file of Stormwind's forces, both the guards and the military, they had toasted and cheered her name long and loud in the mess halls and taverns.

But while they watched the deathknight and the cavalry officer, none of them moved to interfere. Necrucian was nearly nose-to-nose with the smaller man and Kal's hands clawed at the armour-clad vice about his throat. Havarbrook gasped for air as the deathknight's glowing blue eyes narrowed to slits. He said nothing, which Kal found much more frightening than had he begun spouting threats. Other than the anger and contempt in the dead man's pupiless eyes, his grey face was an emotionless mask.

"Necrucian." Bolvar clapped a firm, commanding hand upon the deathknight's shoulder, and while he did not turn or even tilt his head in acknowledgement, the Highlord knew the man was listening. "It's not his fault. Let him go." There was a second of hesitation before he released Kal, who staggered as his feet hit the floor and he bent nearly double as he gasped for air. "Captain, I'm going to need a good description of the man that got away." Fordragon slid between the two men while Necrucian continued to glower at him.

"I'm coming with you." Havarbrook rasped and rubbed his throat. Bolvar did not reply to the contrary as he turned away and when Fordragon strode down the hall with long, purposeful strides, armoured guards fell in behind the Highlord unbidden. Necrucian was a silent mountain at Bolvar's side.

"Tell the Master of Hounds I want his best trackers readied immediately." Bolvar glanced at the closest guard who saluted but before he could pelt off Necrucian grabbed the man by the arm and glanced sidelong at the Highlord.

"No." he replied coldly "You're only going to need _one_."


	10. Chapter 10

******Author's note:Sorry guys, just a short update this week. I'll get back to work on moving this forward next week when I'm feeling a bit better.**

**Ten.**

Despite the lanterns that flickered upon the tables at each side of the bed, Varian found the room ominously dark. As Taliah lay pale and unmoving in just the flickering wash of light, it felt much to funereal, as though she were lying in state and awaiting burial. The prospect that she may never awaken, that he would not have the chance to tell her everything that still needed to be said between them, weighed heavy on his heart. All he could do was hold her hand and hope beyond hope that he would see her eyes open. Despite all of the power he wielded as King and his physical strength in battle, he felt so helpless as he sat by her bedside. Tears spiked his dark lashes and when he closed his eyes, twin trails of moisture rolled down his cheeks. Wrynn did not consider himself a religious man. He knew of the Light and had seen it wielded by priest and paladin alike, but he could count on one hand how many times he'd actually prayed, but he did now, if silently.

Please… let her open her eyes. Let her squeeze my hand… let her smile again. She's survived and endured so much to die like this. If the Light is compassionate, please grant her mercy. Please don't take my child…

Varian didn't hear the bedchamber door open, nor did he hear Jaina enter with quiet steps and when she touched him gently on the shoulder, he started. Clearing his throat, Wrynn wiped a hand down his face to hide his tears, but the mage wasn't fooled. "Varian" Her voice was soft and compassionate but beneath was a firm edge "You've been here for hours. Go tend to Anduin." She could feel the muscles of his shoulder tense stubbornly "The poor boy is distraught and frightened, Varian. There's only so much I can do to assure him. He needs you more right now than Taliah does." It felt cruel to say, but it was true. The Prince had been in tears since the seriousness of the paladin's injuries had been made plain and while the boy loved Jaina like a member of the family, she was not his mother, nor could she comfort him as Varian could. Only Wrynn's stoic strength was going to calm the boy. She felt him subside and the king took in a long breath as though to steady himself. "It's getting late. Get some sleep, I'll stay with her tonight."

When he rose, she put her arms around him and he returned her compassionate gesture. "Thank you." Varian replied. His throat was parched and his eyes were red and itched fiercely, but the indomitable air of his features had returned. With one last look at the still paladin, Wrynn turned away and closed the door behind him.

The search party had almost started with a riot. While they were assembling in the castle's courtyard, Necrucian impassively strode over to the houndmaster and selected the largest and foulest tempered dog of the bunch. Big enough to take on boar and stag, the hounds were long of limb and powerful of body, with long drooping ears, wrinkled faces and heavy jowls. When the deathknight grabbed the dog by the scruff of its neck and dragged it away from the rest of the pack, the others tried to turn on him and only the stout Master of Hounds had been able to keep them in check. The dog writhed and snarled in Necrucian's grip until the deathknight nonchalantly plucked the sword from one of the guard's belts and jammed it into the beast's ribs. With a terrible yelp and shudder it fell silent and Necrucian tossed the corpse behind his mount's saddle and lashed it there. "We won't need the dogs. They'll only slow us down." Necrucian put a foot to the stirrup and swung into the saddle. The huge, foul tempered destrier beneath him arched as though to buck until the deathknight gave a savage jerk to the reins and put his heels hard into the stallion's sides. It subsided, albeit reluctantly, and was clearly unhappy with the dead man upon his back.

Bolvar had not questioned the deathknight, but Kal could tell he was not happy either. When they arrived at Corsel's Meadow, it took Havarbrook only a few moments to the spot in bloodied, flattened grass where Taliah had healed him. His brow furrowed and he knelt to have a closer look. Bolvar sidled up on his mounts and looked down at him from his horse. "What's wrong?" The guards had dismounted and were checking the dead brigands for clues to their identities while the carrion crows scolded down at them from the trees.

"Taliah's sword." Kal stood and looked around himself, wondering if perhaps he hadn't seen it for the grass, but the area was trampled and bloodies, and a swath of greenery was flattened in the place he'd last seen the blade. "It was here." The mercenaries lay where they'd fallen and nothing seemed to have been taken save their coin, if they'd had any to begin with.

"Do you think this… Ned?… returned after the fight?" Bolvar leaned to the side, looking over his destrier's left should at the ground and then up at the sky. "It's going to be too dark to track soon…"

Necrucian's mount walked along the treeline, its bay rump sticky with drying dog blood while the deathknight's cold, glowing eyes studied the bent and broken grasses. Four sets of tracks bent the grass inwards towards the meadow, but only one set bent back towards the forest. As Bolvar sidled up to the deathknight, Necrucian cut the dead hound loose from his saddle. It hit the ground with a solid thud and the deathknight held out his hand. "Call the men and be prepared to move." Necrucian's terse tone set Bolvar's jaw on edge, and as he turned to call the men back to their mounts, he felt the air grown cold.

Necrucian looked down at the hound and his eyes flared with terrible eldritch light. His gauntleted hand slowly closed, making the leather glove beneath creak as though in protest and both his and Bolvar's destriers began to shift and snort nervously. When the deathknight's lips moved, the tongue he spoke in was foreign to the paladin but Fordragon could feel the darkness in his words. What looked like black and purple smoke began to seep downwards from Necrucian's tightly closed fist and the miasma drifted downwards to slowly envelope the hound's corpse. At first, nothing happened and Bolvar wondered what the hell the deathknight was doing, but when the corpse twitched, the paladin felt a deep, instinctive revulsion. Slowly, almost mechanically, the hound rose to its feet, its big head slowly turning to look up at Necrucian. Its glowing eyes were the colour of blood and thick black ichor dripped from its jowls. The men had mounted and drawn closer out of horrified curiosity, but while they and their horses were obviously disquieted, no one said a word. Necrucian seemed to be ignoring them all and looked off into the forest. "Seek." The words were growled low in his throat with near murderous intent. The hound sprang forward, nose to the ground and traveled only a few feet before throwing back its head and unleashing a bloodcurdling howl.

The baying of the beast had caused more than one rider to be thrown when it had first been taken up the missing brigand's trail. Unnaturally loud, the eerie sound was almost a wail, and even after several hours of following in the swift thing's wake, some of the guards still flinched when it howled. The men and their horses were growing tired, but from the almost bloodthirsty excitement the undead thing was showing, Kal decided they had to be getting close. The dog slowed as it reached the outskirts of what Havarbrook thought must be the town of Goldshire and the howling ceased. At first it seemed as though the hound had lost the trail, but while it had fallen silent, its nose was to the ground and its tail was held high. It led them briefly to the livery stable but did not stop, only circled around and stalked across the street to scratch at the door of the inn.

Kal looked up at the hanging sign above the door and recognized the lion-head sigil painted in black and gold. The Lion's Pride Inn had two faces, as far as Kal could tell. By day it was a pleasant tavern, one in which he'd enjoyed a drink or five with friends, but by night the clientele was decidedly more dangerous. The sun was down and Havarbrook found it unlikely that the King's men would be met with smiles and handshakes. Bolvar turned and reminded his men to be cautious, as he knew the place's reputation well, but he had barely finished speaking when Necrucian dismounted, reared back and put his large boot to the center of the door.

Ned sat at the back of the tavern, his cloak up, huddled around his pint. He'd never liked Pryn or the others, but they had worked well together, pulled a few jobs and made some coin. They hadn't trusted each other, but there had been wary respect, and Ned hadn't felt as though he'd had to sleep with an eye open around them. Now, however, he was either going to have to find another party to run with or just go it alone. He didn't relish the thought of being on his own. He was good with a bow and handy enough with a dagger against someone without the skill to fight back, but if nothing else, Ned told himself, he was not going back to Westfall. It had been his connections with the Defias Brotherhood that had gotten him and the others the last job, and Ned wasn't sure their employer was going to take news of their failure well, considering they'd been paid half in advance. The entirety of the 'half' was now in Ned's pocket; he may have respected Pryn, Horst and Grumel, but he wasn't going to let good coin be picked off their bodies by some curious passerby.

Ned took a long swig of his ale, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he looked over at the barkeep and banged the empty wooden cup on the table. As his tankard came to rest on the dirty tabletop, the door of the inn buckled inwards with a resounding 'crack!' and blew off its hinges to slam into the dirty, rush-covered floor. Out of the darkness, a beast of nightmare sprang into the tavern with a howling snarl, scattering patrons and whores alike. The beast's glowing red eyes scanned the scrambling bodies and it raised its head, snuffling wetly at the air as black drool dripped from its slack, droopy lips. When the blood coloured orbs came to rest on Ned, the beast dropped its head and growled. As though summoned by the terrifying sound, a mountain of a man in black plate stepped through the hole in the wall the door had once occupied. While there was no expression on his grey face, Ned could tell the man's eyes were decidedly angry. Without so much as glancing at the hound, the deathknight uttered only a single word that made the dog wag its tail and made Ned shriek in terror.

"Fetch."

Necrucian may have bodily blocked the door, but Kal could hear the screams and shrieks plain enough from the outside the Inn. Through the windows, he saw people scatter and scramble, hugging the walls as a terrible keening came from within. Bolvar seemed about to protest and the guards looked frightened and confused, but before the paladin could speak, Necrucian stepped back from the door and his undead minion dragged a kicking, screaming man from the tavern. The hound had him by the left calf and the front of the man's beaches were wet. Kal had his doubts it was a from spilled tankard of ale. As the hound dragged the man out into the street, Necrucian reached down and picked him up by the throat, hauling him into the air as easily as if he were a dead rabbit. As the man hung in the deathknight's grip, the man's cowl fell back

Kal squinted in the darkness as the weak light from the tavern washed across the terrified wretch's face. Havarbrook's eyes flashed in recognition "That's him." The light might have been bad, but Kal wasn't one to forget the face of someone who'd tried to fill him full of pointy sticks. As though to confirm the Captain's words, when the mercenary's cloak billowed in the breeze. Stuck into Ned's belt, Peacemaker was bared for all to see. It seemed forlorn, dull and lifeless outside of Taliah's grasp, its golden runes faded to a dull bronze, but when Bolvar strode forward and reclaimed the sword, the runes flared gold once more and the mithril blade went from drab steel-grey to silver-white.

"This doesn't belong to you." Bolvar growled, his green eyes narrowing to slits. He thrust the sword into his belt and Ned's face became strained and red as Necrucian's hand flexed. "Lash him to a horse. He can walk back to Stormwind."


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven.**

The dawn rose veiled in thick grey clouds and brought a cold, misting rain that clung to the skin like sweat. The knell of the Cathedral as it struck seven bells seemed almost as dour as the weather, and though it was the last day of the Noble Garden festivities, Varian Wrynn did not feel much like celebrating.

Being a day of feast, he would hear no petitions or grievances today and soon the Palace would be buzzing with the preparations for the grand ball that evening. While he would have preferred to cancel the whole damn thing, it was not possible. By nine bells, Stormwind would know what had befallen the yet unclaimed second in line to the throne and the gossip would begin. Too many people had been in the streets when Marcus Jonathan had galloped through, Taliah limp and bloody in his arms, while guards had bellowed, cursed and shoved people aside to make way. Already, rumours of an assassination attempt on a member of the royal family were circling and he could almost smell the beginnings of fear and discord brewing as he stood on the balcony overlooking the sprawling city. His presence at the ball was now mandatory to prove that the Crown would not be intimidated. Varian was well aware that he would have to show courage and resolve, so that his people would not fear that he would fall into despair as he had with Tiffin's death.

His dark hair was pasted flat to his skull, but Wrynn was unmindful of the rain. Behind him, Bolvar Fordragon had been silent for a long moment, waiting for his King to acknowledge his presence. "Tell me you have good news." Wrynn did not look at the man he loved like a brother. Already he could see the crows beginning to gather at the distant gate to his city, no doubt to peck at the newly mounted heads tarred and spiked there. _Let them serve as a warning to those who would seek to harm my family_ he thought grimly as his lips set in a thin, firm line.

"The man we sought is now a guest of the dungeons, your Grace." Bolvar looked as tired as Varian felt. "As of yet, however, he has been less than forthcoming as to who hired him and his compatriots, whose heads are decorating the ramparts of the front gate, as you ordered." He'd sent a quartet of guards back to the field to collect the brigand's heads, and the men had done so unflinchingly.

"I will know who wanted my daughter and why." Varian's brows drew downward in a fearsome scowl as he glanced over his shoulder at his oldest friend. The king's entire demeanour was grim and cold as the weather and the unsaid _by any means necessary_ hung heavy in the air between them. Bolvar was a loyal soldier, but he was also a paladin, and honour precluded the torture of a prisoner. His king was putting him in a difficult position. It was bad enough the interrogators had nearly drown the man already, but it seemed the brigand feared his employer more than the noose that undoubtedly awaited him.

"He's been put to the question since his arrival, your Majesty." Bolvar looked out over the vast city below them. He knew well enough that the matter of the assault on the young paladin had to be resolved, and quickly. The people and the guards, both the city watch and the palace garrison seemed to love Taliah well enough, while it was no secret the Council of Nobles loved her not. Varian feared that the people would quietly blame the Council for the attack, fomenting distrust and anger within the city against those who's business it was to make sure things within that city ran smoothly. The potential for trouble hung so thick in the air, Bolvar could almost taste it in the rain. "When a man fears his employer more than the consequences of his actions, it's difficult to get him to talk."

The King was silent for a long moment and the rain dripped off his jaw as his big hands curled into fists. There were worse things than a noose, and the wretch would learn of them soon enough. If anyone could get the prisoner to talk, it was the deathknight. "Where is Necrucian?"

Bolvar felt his mouth go dry. The deathknight had stalked off with his hideous new pet when they had arrived back at the palace, as though not trusting himself not to tear the prisoner's head from his shoulders, or Kal's for that matter. There was obviously no love lost between Havarbrook and the deathknight and the air seemed thick with tension whenever they were anywhere near each other. "The deathknight is either in his chambers or keeping watch over Taliah."

"Tell Necrucian I want that bastard talking by noon." The words came out in a growl and Bolvar's heart sank a little. Dutifully, the paladin saluted and withdrew in silence.

Ned shivered in the chair he was bound to, his head hanging in exhaustion. He and the furnishing he was strapped to were the only things occupying the cell, and the bandit had been alone for almost an hour. Despite his circumstances, Ned was quite proud that he hadn't been made to talk, though having his head held underwater until he though his lungs would burst had been frightening. More frightening was the gibbet he knew awaited him in the days or weeks to come, but when he thought of what would happen to him if he talked, hanging by his neck until he was dead seemed pleasant by comparison. There was nowhere the Defias could not get to him, even in the dungeon of Stormwind's palace. Ned resigned himself to a quick death with a sigh and closed his eyes, but the heavy, measured tread of boots coming down the corridor beyond the oak and iron door of his cell filled him with a sudden thrill of terror. The footsteps stopped outside his door and it suddenly swung open as though it were no heavier than the summer door of a bakeshop. Ned's eyes widened in naked fear as the tall man with glowing blue eyes and black plate stepped into the cell. There was no expression on his face, but those angry eyes drilled into him and turned his guts to water. Behind him, the hellhound slipped into the cell in silence as sat by the open door, its grey tongue lolling from its mouth.

Ned was bound hand and foot to the chair, his forearms and wrists lashed to the arms, his ankles to the rough, wooden front legs. Without a word, the deathknight strode forward and crouched before the brigand, looking him over as though the bowman were something that would need to be scraped off his boot. Necrucian reached out slowly and took Ned's right index finger in an iron grip and watched the man begin to squirm and then writhe in pain. As the pressure increased, the deathknight gave the digit a twist and the joint dislocated with a wet snap to an accompanying howl of pain. The deathknight waited a long moment, his eyes never leaving Ned's, and then tore the man's finger from his hand at the knuckle. The brigand thrashed in the chair and let out a shriek of agony as blood splashed the deathknight's armoured forearm and flowed down the arm of the chair. As though his finger were nothing more than a scrap of refuse, the deathknight tossed the severed digit to the hound who swallowed it in a gulp.

Necrucian felt nothing as the pitiful human before him writhed in torment. The brigand was white with terror and sweating from the pain as the crouching deathknight before him pulled a dirk from his boot, holding it up for the man to see. The man stank of sweat, fear and stale piss, and his tortured whimpering brought back a flood of memories from the eight years he'd spent in the Lich King's thrall. Normally Necrucian would have fought to quell the darkness that still claimed him, to keep the beast within chained so that he could tell himself he was not the monster he once was, but not this day. Taliah lay wounded, possibly dying, and he would have his pound of flesh.

"You know what I am." The dead tone of his deep, hollow voice made Ned flinch before he nodded quickly. The brigand couldn't even look at the deathknight lest his bladder let go again. "Then you know what I am capable of." Necrucian growled softly and slipped the dirk into his the black saronite bracer on his forearm. "You know why I am here, so I will not bother to ask questions. You will simply tell me what I want to know, or I will begin feeding you to my dog, piece by piece." Necrucian jerked his chin in the direction of the hellhound and the hideous thing wagged its tail. He continued dispassionately "Should you not start talking by the time I finish with your fingers, I will peal you slowly, like a dead rabbit, and present your skin to the King. After you've bled the floor of your cell red, I'll open your belly and find out if you are truly as gutless as I believe." A small, cold smile pulled at the deathknight's bloodless lips "Tell me what I want to know and I will give you a quick end. Tell me nothing and I will make your torment last for _weeks._.." Necrucian reached for Ned's right ring finger and his voice dropped into a menacing whisper. "There are worse things than death, human. Fuck with me and I promise you losing fingers will be the least of your problems."

That was all the invitation Ned needed. The open wound that had once been his finger throbbed mightily in a way that the bowman had never before experienced and the though of the deathknight pulling off another of his fingers filled him with sick panic. "VanCleef hired us! We didn't know who the girl was, I swear! He gave us a description and said she'd be armed. He didn't say nothin' about her being a paladin or the king's bastard, I swear!" His voice broke and his entire body tensed as the deathknight's hand closed about his finger. With a sharp twist, it came free. Ned's shriek was high and piercing, reminding the deathknight of a child's screams.

The name meant nothing to Necrucian and the hellhound picked up the discarded finger and licked the blood from Ned's hand before the deathknight pushed the dog away. The front of the man's already soiled breaches turned dark and the acid stink of urine filled the cell. "Please! I've told you all I know! He paid us half in advance and said he wanted the girl alive. I dunno why Pryn had to go and brain her that hard." When it became obvious it was a paladin they were facing, Ned had retreated into the brush, but had stayed to watch the fight in case the outcome had been in the brigand's favour. When Pryn had died on the end of the blond man's sabre, Ned had fled back to his horse and rode off. The deathknight said nothing, only watched him steadily with those glowing, pupilless eyes and pulled the dirk from his bracer. The blade came to rest at Ned's groin and with a flick of his wrist, his breaches split beneath the dirk's wicked edge. "We got the contract in Moonbrook at the Black Dog tavern we were supposed to meet someone at the run down church outside of Goldshire to hand the girl off I never actually saw VanCleef but the guy who hired us was his right-hand he's got a crooked nose brown hair and blue eyes scar on his cheek can't miss him when you see him his name's Stoldt I think." Ned's words were a terrified babble, but Necrucian did not withdraw the blade, letting the cold, sharp steel rest against the flaccid flesh between the man's legs and the hellhound gave a hideous whine of anticipation. "I swear that's all I know!" From the desperate look in the now sobbing man's wide eyes, the deathknight believed him. Necrucian rose slowly and turned, ducking just slightly to keep from striking his forehead on the top of the opened door.

"Wait!" Ned called desperately through a sob "The Defias will get to me when they know I talked! You said you'd give me a quick death!" The undead hound circled him slowly, black ichor dripping from its jaws and its glowing red eyes skewering him. The deathknight stopped and looked over his shoulder at the man.

"I lied." Necrucian began closing the door behind him, leaving Ned and the dog alone. His pitiless bazeturned to the hellhound. "Feast, but take your time." As the door closed behind him, Necrucian heard Ned's scream of terror and heard the chair upend. The terrible wailing and shrieking followed him down the hall and he handed the borrowed dirk to one of the two guards at the end of the corridor. Both men were pale and silent. "There won't be need for a burial." The deathknight told them as he started up the stairs leading out of the dungeon.

"VanCleef?" From the look of pure rage on Wrynn's scarred face, Necrucian guessed the name meant more to Stormwind's king than it did to him. Behind him, Jaina Proudmoore stood in silence.

"He said he was hired by a man named Stoldt in the town of Moonbrook in Westfall." Necrucian offered a sheaf of parchment he had prepared and Varian took the report, pacing the floor of his private audience chamber as he read.

"You take the mercenary at his word, then?" Varian finished reading while Jaina kept glancing at the deathknight as though he were making her uncomfortable.

"Considering I'd removed two of his fingers by the time he started talking, I don't doubt his veracity." Necrucian's matter-of-fact tone in admitting to torture seemed to bother the King not at all, but the woman looked sick and scandalized.

"You did _what_?" Jaina Proudmoore hoped she had misunderstood or misheard, but from the cold, emotionless bearing of the deathknight, the ruler of Theramore knew his words for the truth. She turned to Varian, appalled "You _authorized_ the torture of a prisoner?"

Varian did not answer and turned his back to them both to look out the immense bank of windows that overlooked the greensward behind the palace. It was a long time before he spoke again. "Thank you, Necrucian. When I have decided how to proceed, I will send for you again." The deathknight saluted and withdrew and Jaina put her arms about herself with a shiver. "You know I've always welcomed your council, Jaina." Wrynn told her coldly as the door closed behind the deathknight "But do not presume to publicly question my decisions."

"Varian, I know you're angry, but torture?" Jaina knew that her old friend was still having trouble reconciling the two halves of himself that Onyxia had torn asunder. She knew he still struggled at times to mesh 'Varian', the thoughtful, kind aspect of himself with 'Lo'gosh', the angry, aggressive berserker that had ruled the gladiatorial pits. This seemed a bit extreme, even for 'Lo'gosh'. "Brutalizing a prisoner can never be justified."

"Can't it?" Wrynn shot back coldly "I will have justice for my daughter, Jaina." Proudmoore knew there would be no arguing with him when his mood was so dark and merely sighed.

"I'll assuming the man is to be hung on the morrow, then?" Jaina shuddered at the thought "He left before the fighting started, did he not?"

"According to Captain Havarbrook, the man fired two shots and only fled after it became apparent that he and his accomplices faced a paladin." Varian crossed his arms over his broad chest and raised a brow. "In the eyes of the law, that makes him just as guilty as the man who felled Taliah." Despite the fact he knew his next words were sure to get a negative reaction, he continued. "The deathknight is nothing if not thorough. A gibbet at dawn won't be necessary."

Jaina felt the blood drain from her face. "He killed him?" she asked, horrified. The memory of look of cold detachment the deathknight had been wearing during his report sent shivers up her back. She'd been made aware of the battle at Light's Hope upon her arrival the day before, and Jaina had deep misgivings as to the fact there were now deathknights free of the Lich King's control. She feared what they were capable of and now she found her fears were justified.

"I judge the matter closed." Considering the deathknight's feelings for the paladin, Varian didn't imagine that Necrucian had made it a quick end, though he found it didn't bother him overmuch. "Jaina, I have a task for you, and I ask this of you as a friend." When it was obvious the sorceress seemed almost afraid to ask, Varian continued. "Taliah's mother still resides in Southshore. I would ask you to bring her here, so she may be with our daughter… in case the worst should happen."

"It will take me a bit to prepare the proper spells, but I would be happy to." It was obvious Jaina was still troubled by the prisoner's treatment and his subsequent end, but she could see it was important to Wrynn that Tetyana know what had happened.

Varian nodded thanks and turned away. "I have matters to attend to and cannot go myself, but I will send some of the King's Own with you." Proudemoore knew a dismissal when she heard it and bowed her head politely before retreating gladly, wanting to put some distance between herself and the still-roiling anger of the king.

The gown was delivered promptly at ten bells, but remained draped upon its dress form, forgotten in a corner of the bedchamber. Necrucian watched from the shadows as one of the physician's assistants helped the older man roll the paladin onto her side so that the wound at the base of her skull could be examined. Despite the ugly black bruising that stretched over the back of her head and down her neck, the deathknight listened to the old man's murmur of satisfaction. The bleeding had indeed been stopped though the swelling was still going down and the old man traced the injury with a wrinkled but sure finger. "She's a tough little thing." Arilius muttered with a shake of his head. "Hard headed, like her father." He stood and gathered up his things and began giving his assistant, a pretty young woman with flaming red hair and smiling green eyes, instructions as he handed her a crock of something that steamed. "Get her to take as much of this as you can. We have to keep her from becoming dehydrated and wasted."

"I'll do that." The deathknight's voice came from the dark corner of Taliah's bedchamber and only the glow of his cerulean eyes was visible in the low light. The young woman glanced at Arilius with uncertainty, but the old man shrugged.

"He's the king's man and a friend of the girl. I see no harm in it." The crock was left on the chair beside the bed and Arilius Traent motioned for his assistant to follow him. "I'll be back by three bells to check on her again."

Necrucian ignored the pair as they left and closed the door behind them. He sat at the paladin's side and removed his gauntlets, crock in one hand, a cloth in the other and he dipped it into the steaming liquid before gently pressing the cloth to Taliah's lips. The deathknight repeated the process until he saw her throat bob in a slow, automatic swallow. They had been in this position before, or near enough to it, aboard the _Arcareena_ after Taliah had gone overboard and drown, only to be revived when Necrucian had forced air once again into her lungs. He hadn't left her side for days after that. "I shouldn't have left your side here, either." Necrucian pressed the cloth gently to Taliah's lips and lamented. The paladin had only months ago knocked him off his horse with a rage-fuelled punch to the jaw as they'd traversed the Plaguelands. Later, she had fought him to a hard-won draw with practice swords in a field by her mother's cottage. Now, she looked like nothing more than a broken doll. Her head was shorn to stubble, the thick ebon curls gone and her normally pale skin gone almost white except for the obscene bruising behind her head.

After he had held her that day by pond in the driving rain and Taliah had put her arms around him and screamed her despair into his chest, Necrucian had kept his distance, troubled by a tumult of emotions he should not be having. He was a deathknight, a soulless instrument of destruction whose only purpose, now that he was free, was to exact vengeance on the Lich King. Back at Chillwind, the High Priestess Jessa MacDonnell had told him he was not beyond kindness and compassion, and that his humanity was not truly lost to him, but what he felt for the oft stubborn and irritating paladin went beyond that.

He cared for her and had, he realized, since the day on the banks of the Thondroril when Taliah had sacrificed of herself to save him. The paladin could have easily done as he'd bid; to take the missives he was carrying and ride on for Southshore with the boy, leaving him to his fate. But she had refused, used Peacemaker to open her palm and let his wounds siphon her blood to the point she'd been physically weakened and lost consciousness. She had risked her life to save the man who had killed her lover, and done so without hesitation. He had not forgotten that it was his hand she had taken, and not her old friend Raleigh's and had clung to him, shivering with bone-numbing cold, as they'd rode to from Tarren Mill.

Varian knew the truth of it. Necrucian did love her.

_I should have told you…_ The last of the warm, nutritious broth disappeared behind Taliah's pale lips and Necrucian wiped her mouth gently _but I have no right to_. He had killed the man she loved, killed his own wife and child, and while she had forgiven him and he had long ago forgiven himself, it still did not change the fact that his hands were stained with their blood, and that of countless other innocent people. Necrucian had nothing save his sword and the destrier he'd been forced to leave back at Tetyana's cottage in Southshore. The deathknight had no home and he had his doubts as to his ability to sire children. _Arthas took __**everything**__ from me…_What could he, as a deathknight, offer her? It mattered little at any rate. Taliah seemed rather taken with Havarbrook. Necrucian did not understand how he even had the capacity to feel anything beyond the burning need for vengeance he'd had to endure for the last eight years. He'd known love as Aaros Marston and was familiar with what the emotion felt like, so try as he might, he could not deny what he felt for the paladin.

"Taliah, can you hear me?" He took her calloused hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. The deathknight's hollow, ethereal voice was a strangely tender whisper "I don't want to lose you, paladin. We've been through too much together to part ways like this." Necrucian's thumb stroked over the cool skin of her brow but the paladin did not stir and the deathknight's chest tightened painfully. "You have to wake up…"

How long he'd been there before Gretchen opened the bedchamber door, Necrucian could not say for sure but he judged at least an hour had passed. "I'm sorry to disturb you, m'lord." Despite the fact that nothing showed on the deathknight's face, she felt like she was intruding upon something profoundly intimate. "His Majesty has sent for you." Necrucian said nothing and placed Taliah's hand gently down upon the bed before rising from the chair. As he passed, Gretchen put a hand to his arm. "We'll be moving her from the guest section of the palace to the royal apartments this afternoon. His Majesty believes she will be safer and more comfortable there." The deathknight merely nodded and took his leave, and Gretchen watched him go, tears brimming her eyes.

Necrucian stood before the King in Varian's private audience chambers. Kal Havarbrook stood to one side, looking less than comfortable, and Necrucian ignore the man as though he didn't exist. Jaina Proudmoore, stood behind the king looking troubled and unhappy.

Wrynn's anger seemed to have abated and he spoke calmly "Necrucian, I am sending you with Lady Proudmoore and a handful of guards to Southshore to bring Tetyana back to Stormwind so that she might be with Taliah." .

"It would be my honour to conduct her here. The poor woman will be beside herself with worry as it is." The deathknight replied stoically "But are the shipping lanes between here and the North not closed? It took months to get here, and the weather will be much less cooperative this time." A sudden look of concern flashed over Necrucian's features "And the boy… a journey of that length at this time of year will be hard on him."

"Boy?" Varian blinked blankly at the deathknight. From all Tetyana's letters he'd received over the last few years, she had never once mentioned another child. "I wasn't aware that Tetyana had a son."

"She doesn't." Necrucian's eyes narrowed just slightly, wondering how it was possible that Taliah had failed to mentioned Thomas to Wrynn. "The boy is Taliah's."

Varian sat back in his throne as though someone had just clubbed him. Had Taliah not thought to tell him, or had she withheld the information for some other reason? Wrynn shook his head as though trying to make sense of this new information and felt a sudden tinge of dread creep upon him. "Necrucian… the Foraken took the missives you were to bring me and you said you committed them to memory before leaving Light's Hope."

"I did, your Majesty." The deathknight wasn't sure why he suddenly felt uneasy, but decided it probably had a lot to do with the dawning look of dread upon the king's scarred face.

"Was there any mention of Taliah in any of them?" His fingers flexed, digging into the padded arms of the audience chamber throne. "If they know about her, the boy could be in danger."

"I was not given leave to read the letter Fordring had addressed to you, so I can not guess as to its contents, though it was my understanding that it would see Taliah through the gates of Stormwind and gain us an audience with you." Necrucian wanted to kick himself. At the time, he had not known of Taliah's link to the man he was tasked to deliver the reports to, though when he'd finally seen the two together, it had been easy enough to guess. There was more than a passing resemblance between the paladin and the king. "So yes, Fordring's letter more than likely contained information about Taliah's relationship to you."

Wrynn stood, his expression dire "Then I pray were are not already too late. You'll leave immediately. Be back by nightfall." Jaina and the confused looking deathknight bowed and withdrew, leaving Kal alone with Wrynn.

Havarbrook tried not to look nervous and stood at unmoving attention as his king approached. Wrynn looked the shorter man up and down as though taking the measure of his worth and finding him wanting. "What, exactly" Varian glared down at Kal and Havarbrook felt the cold steel of the man's gaze as though it were a tangible thing "where you thinking when you took my daughter from the protection of the city?" With only seventeen years between the paladin and the king, Kal still had trouble wrapping his head around the fact that Taliah was Varian's daughter.

"Your Majesty, I meant no harm." Havarbrooks throat was dry and he could feel the sweat bead upon his forehead. Dark circles ringed his eyes from lack of sleep and his near-constant badgering of Gretchen for news on Taliah's condition had not left him time to bathe. She'd been ordered not to admit him into the paladin's quarters, but she'd not been barred from keeping the poor man informed. "She seemed so uncomfortable and unhappy here. I only wanted to show her there was more to Stormwind than the city palace walls. I thought, if she could see more, she would-"

"She would what?" Varian asked, and Kal found the quiet menace more disconcerting than had his king been yelling at him. "Give you a tumble like Branigan's girl did? I'm sure your father was overjoyed when he was told you were spending time together."

"It's not like that, your Grace!" Havarbrook protested, trying not to sound as insulted as he felt. "I told him nothing. I've no love for my father, nor he for me."

"And he has less love for Taliah." Varian replied "I find it somewhat convenient that you seem amorously predisposed to the woman who hates your father more than you do. How better to infuriate him than to be seen enjoying the company of the girl who tried to dismember him."

"I love her, your Majesty." Kal's jaw set at a stubborn angle. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut. "My father has nothing to do with this."

"You've a poor grasp of what your father is capable of, boy." Varian snorted and stalked to the door and whispered something to the guard in the corridor before he turned his back on Kal. The silence was nearly oppressive until the door opened again and a man in a dark cloak slipped into the room. After a moment, the King addressed the newcomer, who made no attempt to reveal himself. "Tell Captain Havarbrook what you told me."

"Lord Baen Havarbrook seeks to put his bloodline on the throne." The man's voice was as close to obsequious as one could get without actually bending the knee and kissing a boot. "He's had me following you since the day of the runaway in the Trade district. When it became obvious that you were interested in the girl, he arranged to have your section left behind when the Twelfth was mustered to Lakeshire so that you would be able to spend more time pursuing her." When Kal took on a look caught somewhere between sick and outraged, the cloaked man merely shrugged. "It was no secret the girl was lonely and grieving. Convenient she should find someone who would offer an understanding ear, shared her interests and who suddenly had a lot of free time on his hands." The man raised his head just enough that the lower half of his face was visible, and Kal could seem the smirk on his lips. "The plan was elegant enough. Mutual dislike of Lord Havarbrook would bring you together and your charisma and good looks would do the rest. All your father had to do was wait." When Varian held up his hand, Sorus Naveri fell silent.

"That will be all." Naveri bowed taking care that his face was not completely revealed, and withdrew. Wrynn looked over his shoulder to Kal, who stood blank faced and sweating as though he were about to vomit.

"It would not surprise me if the attack was orchestrated by your father through the Defias." The king's cold demeanour had not changed. "What better way to bond two soldiers than to have them fight at each other's side?"

"No." Kal shook his head, but his voice lacked true conviction "My father is many things, but he would not conspire against the throne." The mere thought that his father might actually be responsible for the attack that had left Taliah comatose made him ill.

"Wouldn't he? Ambitious men are dangerous." Wrynn asked dryly. "You are a lucky man, Captain Havarbrook. If Highlord Fordragon had not personally vouched for your character, you would be enjoying the hospitality of the stockades." Varian walked across the room to stand before the Captain and looked down at him. "Instead, when the deathknight returns from the task I have given him, you will accompany Necrucian to Westfall, and you will find the man who hired the swords and sent them after Taliah." 

"Just the two of us, your Majesty?" Kal had spent much of the last three years patrolling in and around Westfall and knew the area well. The prospect of going to Westfall, a place crawling with the remnants of the Stonemason's Guild who had no love for anything bearing Stormwind's sigil, with a man who could reanimate the dead and seemed to blame him for Taliah's injuries, was not exactly appealing. It was however, his king's command, and he was eager to bring whoever had hired the mercenaries to justice. If that someone happened to be his father, as Wrynn suspected, Kal Havarbrook would haul the man before his king in chains.

"If I send in a troops waving the colours, the Defias will crawl back beneath the rotting log they hide beneath. If I send two, one who knows the terrain and one who will scare the shit out of any man with sense, I think this matter will be resolved more quickly." Varian waved away the man's concerns "The deathknight should be back by nightfall, and you'll leave on the morrow. Draw what kit you need and be ready."

"As you command, your Grace." Kal raised his chin and saluted, keeping the apprehensive look from his face only with effort.

"How, precisely, are we going to get to Southshore and back by nightfall?" Necrucian stood in the courtyard at Jaina's side. Five of the King's Own flanked them silently and the sorceress gave the deathknight a hint of a smile.

"I've been to the garrison in Southshore many times, so I can open a portal from here to there. It'll be quick and easy." The deathknight gave her a dubious look. The grip of Redemption, his massive two-handed greatsword, poked up from behind his shoulder and Jaina frowned "I don't think there's any need to be armed, though. I'm not sure why Varian thought the guards were necessary."

"Just concern yourself with getting us there, my Lady." Necrucian replied coolly and Jaina tried not to look. Her blue eyes slitted while her hands rose slowly as she spoke the incantation in a soft but clear voice. The deathknight could almost feel the air around them grow heavy with arcane energy as the portal began to take shape before them. Slowly, a view of the garrison's courtyard began to appear within the portal and the men on the other side, dressed in leather and furs against the cold, drew closer, weapons drawn and wary.

"We'll go first." Lieutenant Garvy offered. He and his men were dressed in boiled leather and chainmail, with heavy fur cloaks that were making them sweat under the nearly-noon sun. "A friendly face bearing the King's colours might be better received than a deathknight in black." Considering that the men of the garrison had not exactly welcomed him when he and the paladin had stayed there previously, Necrucian did not argue. Lieutenant Garvy and his men disappeared one by one through the mirror-like portal. When it became clear that their surprise guests were from Stormwind, the guards welcomed them with handshakes and claps on the shoulder, but no such greeting was forthcoming for the deathknight. As he stepped from warm, gentle spring into brutal winter, many of the garrison troops who'd been welcoming the King's Own became decidedly uneasy. Jaina stepped through behind him and Necrucian heard a familiar voice boom out in the cold.

"Lady Proudmoore, it's been far too long." Sir Raleigh's gruff voice cut through the blisteringly chill air as he waded through the curious troops to bow graciously before the sorceress. Raleigh straightened, pulling the hood of his bearskin cloak over his head to ward off the bitter wind and offered his hand to the deathknight who clasped the man's forearm in a warrior's greeting. "Necrucian. I trust your mission was successful?"

"Aye, it went well enough." The deathknight replied. Raleigh looked over Necrucian's shoulder and then looked around. "Taliah didn't return with you?"

"That's why we're here, Sir Raleigh." Jaina pulled her heavy lambswool cloak about herself. "Taliah's been injured and we've come to bring her mother to Stormwind. If you could loan us a few horses, we'd be most grateful."

From the grim look on the visitors' faces and the purpose of their arrival, Raleigh guessed the paladin's injuries were great. "You'll have them, my Lady." He assured her "Tetyana was in town with the boy not three days ago. The lad's growing like a weed."

Jaina glanced at Necrucian, but the deathknight said nothing. Horses were brought forth with an extra for Raleigh and they set out through the garrison's portcullis. The wind whipped the powder kicked up by the horses into an almost blinding cloud about them. The sky was clear as crystal, the stars shining brightly and the cold made Jaina's eyes water, freezing the tears to her pale gold lashes as they rode. She fondly remembered winters in Dalaran, made mild and pleasant through sorcery, and wondered how the small town could endure such harsh conditions. It was still only early in the winter, but the snow was already up to the horses' knees. She prodded her mount alongside Necrucian's and reached out to put a hand on his arm. "Why wouldn't Taliah tell her father about the child?"

"No idea, but I'm sure she had her reasons." Necrucian had seen the reproachful look Jaina had given him in the audience chamber and had no illusions as to its cause, but the deathknight could not have cared less.

"You could have mentioned it. Had Varian known, he would have sent for me sooner." She protested. Their pace was causing the horses to sweat and white vapour rose into the air about them like a cloud. The deathknight's eyes were narrowed in what looked like irritation, but Jaina persisted. "The boy could be in terrible danger."

"She figured he'd be safer with her mother than on a ship, and considering the hell we went through to get to Stormwind, the paladin was right." Necrucian's tone was brusque, and his hands tightened on the reins.

Jaina watched as the deathknight grew tenser, his eyes sweeping the forest as though he could sense something she could not. "What's wrong?"

"Something isn't right." He could feel the taint of undeath blowing on the wind. The deathknight could sense when the undead were near, and he immediately feared for Tetyana. He looked back at the lieutenant and motioned towards the still distant cottage with a wave of his mailed hand "I can feel the presence of Forsaken…"

Kormak slipped around the side of the disgustingly cheerful looking cottage. While it was still early in the afternoon, the sun set early in the winter and the light was already low. The weather over the last week had done its best to spite him, as had the foul tempered grey beast that stalked the cottage's paddock. Once he secured the boy he had but to use the silver amulet about his neck, given to him by the Dark Lady herself, to return to the ruins of Lordaeron's once great capitol. It had been easy enough to find the Dawnstar woman's house from the map he had stolen from the city archives the night before, and he was confident she would pose little problem to dispatch or subdue To keep from alerting the roving patrols that left the garrison at all hours like bees from a hive, the undead scout had come alone and he was now questioning the wisdom of his plan.

Valiant stretched and shook himself in the run-in shed, grunting as he pulled himself upright. While he still needed nearly ten stone worth of weight, the stallion's knees and hooves had finally healed and no longer pained him. The destrier looked more yak than finely-bred equine, his winter coat grown out thick and shaggy to ward off the cold and wind. He shared the shed with a cow and long-yearling calf, though only grudgingly and on more than one occasion had shoved them out into the cold so that he could stretch his length in the fresh hay Tetyana put down every morning. The Carlsons had been kind enough, ministering to his wounds and filling his bucket full of warm bran and apple mash every night, but they were not Taliah. After Valiant had jumped the eight foot fence in the stallion paddock for the fourth time and destroyed the stall they had try to confine him in, Tetyana had decided to take him before he injured himself or one of his caregivers. By the end, the Carlsons had been more than happy to see him go.

He could hear Acharon pacing restlessly in the barn and the grey stallion poked his head out the shed's doorless opening. As the wind hit him full in the face, his nostrils flared and he caught the scent; the stink of tainted and desiccated human flesh. The grey destrier knew the aroma only too well – the scent of the undead – and from the restless snorting coming from the barn, he knew Acharon could smell it as well. Valiant strode out into the paddock, the wind whipping through his mane and tail, and he followed his nose to the far west corner. The snow was pristine this far from the gate and the hay and Valiant pushed through the chest-high drifts until he butted up against the fence. With a disdainful snort, the destrier gathered his hindquarters beneath him, bounded over the rails with little effort and continued to follow the fetid smell.

The cold had no effect on Kormak, and shrouded in white as he was, he was nearly invisible against the snow as he crouched by the end of the woodpile. The scout was patient as he waited for the lamplight in the cottage's windows to extinguish. The wind was in his face, cold and biting, and Kormak was thankful hypothermia was something he no longer had to concern himself with. As he considered the rewards awaiting him when he delivered the whelp to his Dark Lady, the scout didn't see the big grey head poke around the corner of the cottage some ten yards behind him. It was only when the horse exploded after him, bawling like a demon, that the scout nearly leapt out of his rotting skin.

Valiant's ears were pinned against his skull, his jaws open and teeth bared, his brown eyes red-rimmed and burning in hatred. There were many things the stallion disliked, but the undead were his least favourite of all. They were unnatural, savage and soulless, and nothing pleased him more than tearing at them with his teeth and hammering them with his sharp hooves. The Forsaken whirled in surprise as the destrier bore down on him and the daggers on his bony hips cleared leather. Valiant heard Acharon's ethereal bugle from the barn and heard the splinter of wood as the undead stallion ploughed through the stall and then the barn locked door itself.

Thomas sat curled in Tetyana's lap as she cuddled him. They sat by the hearth in the rocking chair as she used to with Taliah when the paladin had been the boy's age. She was in the midst of telling him a tale of a race between a fox and a dwarf when the sudden sound of Valiant's angry bellow, like a thing from nightmare, came from the rear of the cottage. Thomas, who had been sleepy and dressed for bed, clung to Tetyana in terror, his blue eyes wide. She slid from the chair and set him on the floor where he clung to her skirts, his black lashes spiked with tears. Even through the wall of the cottage, she could hear the stallion's hooves thudding upon the ground in an angry tattoo and occasionally heard the snap of his crushing teeth.

"Grama?" Thomas tugged at her skirts as she took the crossbow from its place on the mantel and slung a quiver of quarrels over her shoulder. She heard Acharon's muted call and rushed to the window overlooking the paddock in time to see him charge through the barn doors as though it were made of balsawood.

"It's probably just a mountain cat." Tetyana replied uncertainly. Valiant had no love of the big predators and had jumped the paddock fence not a week before to attack one who had dared to come out of the tree line in hopes of taking her gentle bay palfrey. By the time she had run from the cottage with the crossbow, Valiant had chased the thing up a tree where Tetyana had feathered it with quarrels. "Thomas, stay inside." The boy looked terrified at the prospect of being left alone, but as Tetyana threw on a cloak and opened the door, she could see riders coming up the road at a gallop. Unable to identify them in the failing light, Tetyana closed the door and barred it shut.

Even in the fading light, Jaina could see the dark form of a horse smashing through the barn door. It crossed the long paddock in a few dozen strides and soared over the fence before disappearing behind the cottage. Something dressed in white and barely discernable as humanoid against the snow bolted from behind the woodpile next to the home. Two horses, one grey as storm clouds and the other black as pitch doggedly pursued it. Beside her, Necrucian swore and his massive blade came free as he spurred his mount hard in pursuit. Jaina broke off with him and waved her hand. The deathknight could feel the air crackle with arcane energy and the fleeing figure's feet were abruptly encased in jagged blocks of ice, anchoring them to the ground. Even from forty yards, Jaina could see the sickly yellow glow of the intruder's eyes from beneath his hood and felt a stab of revulsion and fear.

Unable to move, Kormak reached into his belt, yanked a small glass phial free and twisted around, launching it at the two snapping, striking horses that were almost on him. The grey shied as the phial hit him square in the face and exploded, sending a cascade of fine powder swirling through the air. The wind carried the irritating, blinding particles to the black as well and the two big animals crashed into each other as they threw their heads and blinked in pain. The stallions went to their knees and thrust their faces into the snow, desperate to rid themselves of the burning irritation in their eyes and nostrils.

Necrucian bore down upon the Forsaken scout and as the undead turned himself about to face him, the deathknight recognized him as the same wretch who'd tormented him in Tarren Mill. From the way Kormak's eyes narrowed, Necrucian was sure the Forsaken recognized him as well. The deathknight bared his teeth, his eyes blazing a cold blue and as he drew within striking distance, both of his hands gripped Redemption and held the sword low and to the side. Necrucian was almost on him, ready to bisect the Forsaken from groin to skull, when the scout reached into his cloak, squeezed his eyes shut and disappeared. The resounding 'CRACK!' of his disappearance echoed through the dusking sky and left a billowing puff of blue-black smoke behind. The deathknight's blade found only empty air and he swore in terms so vile Jaina wanted to cover her ears. Necrucian wheeled his mount, ignoring Acharon and Valiant who still rubbed their faces in the snow, and rode back to the cottage. He jabbed a finger at Lieutenant Garvy "Search the area. If there are other Forsaken here, I want them alive." The lieutenant looked to Jaina, unsure if he should be taking orders from the unranked deathknight, but the sorceress nodded in silent ascent and Garvy and his men split into two small groups and began to search the woods.

The windows were dark when Necrucian reached out to try the door, fearing the worst. As his hand set upon the latch, the door was yanked open and instead of the carnage he feared, the deathknight was met with a fierce-looking Tetyana brandishing the business end of a crossbow in his direction. Her hazel eyes went from ferocious to surprised in a blink. "Necrucian?" The crossbow lowered and she set it upon the floor as she rushed to embrace the deathknight. "What's going on? I heard-" The woman's brow furrowed when she set eyes upon Jaina and she stepped around Necrucian to look out the door. "Taliah isn't with you?"

"Tetyana." The deathknight nearly tripped when Thomas latched onto his leg in a happy hug and he took the woman gently by the shoulders "I've come to bring you to Stormwind. Taliah's been injured." From the grave look on the deathknight's face and his stoic tone, Tetyana knew her daughter's situation must be dire. "Gather what you need, but we must leave immediately. We drove off a Forsaken scout when we arrived, but more might be on the way."

Despite the flurry of questions he saw in her eyes, Tetyana asked him nothing more. Jaina helped her gather a few articles of clothing and some belongings while Necrucian went behind the cabin to collect his destrier. _I beg a favour of you, Knight. Watch over her…_the memory of Tetyana's words to him brought an almost physical pain. He had failed to protect Taliah, letting the emotional discomfort he should not even be feeling drive him away, and the paladin had paid dearly for it. As he walked around the only slightly diminished pile of wood he had months ago stacked against the side of the cottage, he heard an ethereal nicker of greeting. Acharon slogged through the trampled snow to his master and the deathknight gave the beast a firm pat upon its dark, arched neck. As though he also thought the deathknight guilty of something unspeakable, Valiant pinned his ears and tossed his head in a not-so-subtle threat and did not approach. "Nice to see you too." The deathknight muttered.

A search of the woods found nothing, but everyone worked quickly anyway. Raleigh, Necrucian and the two of the King's Own had quickly managed a somewhat competent if quick patch on the damaged barn and the old paladin had accepted Tetyana's offer of use of her cottage in exchange for caring for her livestock. The deathknight had reclaimed his gear from the barn and Acharon looked a great deal more fearsome tacked up than he had naked. The only difficulty they encountered was Valiant who, true to his nature, had led Lieutenant Garvy and his men on a merry chase about the property until one of his men had managed to get a rope on him. Another rope had followed and two of the King's Own flanked the unruly grey destrier, keeping the ropes tight so that the unruly stallion could not snap at them. Bundled in wool and furs, Tetyana rode behind Necrucian upon Acharon while Thomas rode huddled in Jaina's cloak. He had been quiet and withdrawn after his grandmother had explained that Taliah was hurt and that they were going to visit her to help her get better. Necrucian remembered the boy as normally chatty and inquisitive, but the child had say nothing since they'd left the cottage.

Night had fallen by the time they arrived at the garrison, and the original portal the sorceress had opened was long since evaporated into nothingness. While Jaina prepared to cast the intricate spell again, Raleigh put a hand to Necrucian's shoulder. "Taliah will be in my prayers. May the Light bless and heal her. If…" Raliegh shook his head "No… _when_ she awakens, send word to us here? The troops still fondly remember her drunken singing in the tavern."

"I will tell her you send greetings and well-wishes when she awakens." The deathknight replied "And I will send you word… no matter the outcome." The portal crackled to life and Raleigh said his farewells to Tetyana and Thomas as they stepped through. Acharon was next, entering without fuss, but Valiant refused to move. Despite two ropes about his neck, one around his rump and five large, strong men hauling on them, the destrier refused to budge.

"Bloody hell." Lieutenant Garvy spat in exasperation "Can we not just leave the bastard here?" Valiant stood tall, head in the air and at an arrogant angle as though appalled that he should have to suffer such indignation. When the garrison sergeant in charge of the stables suggested a good whipping, Necrucian knew such treatment would only cause the imperious animal to explode like a powderkeg.

"I can't sustain the portal much longer, Necrucian." Jaina warned and watched as the deathknight's pale lips pursed, as though considering his options before a cold, sharp smile twisted his mouth. Necrucian crouched and gathered up an enormous handful of snow, packing it into a ball nearly the size of a human head. He took his time, gauging distance and how much force he would need, and then drew back his arm and then let fly.

The snowball exploded between Valiant's eyes, momentarily blinding him, and the stallion snorted and shook his head as he reared in anger. His eyes were still stinging from the blinding powder and this was now insult heaped upon injury. When his vision cleared, the destrier's gaze locked on the smirking deathknight and the stallion lunged forward with a snarl, his teeth bared and ears flattened to his skull. His sharp hooves kicked up snow and dirt as he bore down on Necrucian who stepped back through the portal. Jaina watched wide-eyed as the stallion swept by, dragging the King's Own behind him. The scene on the other side of the portal was one of pure chaos as the destrier continued his pursuit of the deathknight around the courtyard until Necrucian was forced to retreat into the palace. Jaina gave the old paladin a chagrined look "I'm sorry for all the trouble, Sir Raleigh. Thank you again for your aid." As she stepped through the portal, she could hear the gales of laughter from the Southshore garrison until the swirling, magical aperture closed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve.**

Garbed in black, he placed the golden bowl upon the altar at the center of the room. The top of the altar was etched with sigils that glowed purple and pulse as he spoke. Banks of tallow candles that gave off greasy grey smoke and smelled strongly of incense lighted the room. Behind him, the rooms' only door opened and two men in black and silver armour dragged a girl between them as they entered. Just barely a woman, her long blond hair was matted and tousled and she was bare as the day she'd been born. Tightly gagged, the girl's frightened tears had long ago soaked the cloth that tightly covered her eyes. She kicked and fought, but her captors were strong and bent her willowy arms behind her back, shoving her forward when she resisted. They bent her over the altar, her face hovering above the shining golden bowl, and the man in the hooded black robe grabbed her by the hair and wrenched her head back. The girl had barely the time to whimper before the obsidian blade in the man's hand stroked across her throat, opening it from ear to ear with a single caress. Bright blood sprayed from the severed arteries and splashed into the vessel as the girl kicked and struggled briefly. As she bled, one of her armoured escort picked her up and slung the body over his shoulder to keep the blood flowing. As the last of the girl's life drained away, the guards left in silence, taking the corpse with them.

Placing the dagger beside the bowl, the hooded figure held his hands over the vessel and began to chant softly. As he spoke the words of the spell, the blood within the bowl slowly began to thicken and bubble like porridge over a flame. It steamed, even in the warm air and the stench of the vapour made his eyes water. When the first part of the intricate spell was complete, he took the golden receptacle in both hands and stepped across the room to the wall, setting it upon the polished jet and lapis floor in the wide space between two banks of candles. Dipping his hand into the bowl, he smeared the blood upon the wall, in wide, thick swaths. The man took a knee and bowed his head, his voice clear and cold as he continued the spell, and the blood upon the wall began to ripple. It went from red to brown, then to black shot through with purple and began to smoke and steam. The portal shimmered and the image of the Lich King appeared as though in the reflection of a dark pond.

"I see you are still breathing." Arthas's arms were crossed over his chest and he looked down at his servant. The robed man on the other side of the portal bowed his head almost to the floor.

"None of them suspect anything, your Highness." Beneath his cowl, he swallowed audibly. "However, the swords contracted by my associate were clumsy, your Majesty." The man said apologetically and began to sweat in fear. "The paladin was wounded in the fight and has been comatose for more than a day. My spies tell me Varian's physician does not know when she will awaken, or if she ever will."

"Little matter." Arthas' brows drew down in irritation. He'd have much preferred for his minion to have shoved Taliah Dawnstar, kicking and cursing, through the one-way portal, but he would have her, one way or another. "Let me assume, because you are not grovelling and begging forgiveness, that you have enacted my secondary plan, and that all is in readiness?"

"Yes, my King." His servant rolled a hand-sized polished sphere of black stone across the floor and as it slipped into the portal, the image shimmered as though made of water. The black stone, its surface inscribed with blue spell runes, stopped at the Lich King's feet. "Its mate is hidden within the paladin's bedchamber. It needs only your power to activate."

"It will take a fortnight to complete the transfer over such a great distance, but be ready." His image was already fading "When they believe her dead, collect her, open the portal anew and bring her to me." Within the silence of his sanctum, Arthas bent and picked up the stone, scanning its rune-covered surface. His inside-man in Stormwind was not a powerful necromancer, but he was precise and thorough, and there were no errors in the runes. The portal shimmered a final time and image of the Lich King disappeared, replaced by a smoking, black arch that crumbled from the wall to turn to dust upon the floor.

He grinned, remembering the paladin as a child; small and wiry, fierce and angry, the bane of Gavinrad the Dire's existence. The Lich King could feel the elder paladin's tormented soul, trapped within Frostmourn's cursed blade, still fighting his control and he could sense Gavinrad's distress _Soon, your former squire will join my ranks, and become the weapon you feared to fully unleash._

_She will fight you._ Despite the eight long years of seemingly endless torture he endured in his ethereal prison, Gavinrad the Dire was still defiant. _You know not what you do, Arthas_. He warned, though the paladin's thoughts were strained. _Talos Melianir could not be controlled, even through the arcane might of the Elves. You will be no more successful with his descendant._

Arthas laughed aloud and with a thought, silenced the soul imprisoned within the blade. He knew the story well and had no intension of making the same mistakes the leaders of the Arathi Empire, or their Elven allies had. They had allowed Melianir to discover the extent of his power on his own during the Troll Wars and had paid a heavy price for it. The Lich King, however, would break Taliah Dawnstar as he had broken so many before her. When she bent the knee and forswore the Light, he would show her how to tap into the same darkness that made him so powerful. _And then…_ His cold, glowing eyes narrowed in amusement _I will unleash her upon Stormwind, as Ner'zhul unleashed me upon Lordaeron_.

His sanctum was a dark mockery of the throne room he would have ruled Lordaeon from, had he not taken up Frostmourn and joined with Ner'zhul to become the Lich King. He had purged the last vestiges of the orc shaman's spirit from his being, and now only Arthas Menethil remained. As he took his place upon the throne, he balanced the black stone sphere in his right hand and focused his will upon it. At first, the runes flared a bright blue, and then the black stone seemed to glow from within. The internal glow began to swell and turned the black sphere clear as crystal. He saw her then, though with her head shorn, it took him a moment to recognize her. _Apparently you still have not learned how to duck, sweetling_. His lips twisted in a sneer as an old memory came forth, of a younger version of himself schooling Taliah in the finer points of jousting and had miscalculated the couch and angle of his lance. Instead of striking high on her shield, as he'd intended, the young prince had instead hit the twelve-year-old squire squarely in the visor with the business end of his blunted lance and nearly taken her head off. The blacksmith had to be summoned to help pry Taliah out of the helm, but other than a bloody nose and a concussion, the girl had been unhurt. Gavinrad had wanted the young prince punished for his recklessness, but Uther had witnessed the tilt and pointed out the fact that Taliah could have easily avoided the hit had she not been so focused on wanting to prove she could knock Arthas off his horse. "True his lance was high, but you must admit the girl is short, and all she had to do was duck." Gavinrad had dropped the matter grudgingly, and the tale had become a popular one in the dining halls among the Silver Hand.

Though she was pale enough to be dead, , and even through the distant connection of the spell-runed spheres, he could feel her pain and sense her weakness. The Lich King's eyes narrowed and a cold smile pulled at his lips. He focused his formidable powers through the orb and upon the young woman thousands of miles to the south, slipping into her mind as thief through an open window.

The gusting wind kicked up the crystallized snow and it scoured her unprotected face as though it were sand. Pain lanced through her skull as the paladin's closed eyes squeezed tightly together, her gauntleted hands covering her head as though to ward off a blow. The glare of the sun upon the snow, bright despite the fact her eyes were closed, only intensified the pain and made her gasp in a lungful of air so cold it burned like fire.

_Taliah_ A deep, commanding voice echoed through her throbbing head and it was both familiar and in pain _Taliah, you must rise. He is coming._

_It hurts, Lord Gavinrad…by the Light, it __**hurts!**_ Pure agony lanced through the base of her skull and exploded behind her eyes. Taliah curled into a shivering ball, her armour scraping the ice as she choked on another lungful of cold air. The paladin had known pain, in all its varying forms, over the short course of her life but nothing compared to this; the sensation was as though someone had jammed their hand into the back of her skull and was slowly squeezing her brains into jelly. She had no idea how she'd come to be in this place of snow and ice. The last thing she remembered was the feel of Kal's bleeding flesh beneath her hands and the smell of warm, crushed grass and wildflower.

_Get up, girl!_ The voice of Gavinrad the Dire, the man who had been her surrogate father for four years, grated as though the man were in terrible distress himself. _You must awaken! _The voice ended in a howl of torment before falling silent. With a groan, Taliah rolled to her knees and posted her hands into the hard-packed snow, slowly rising to all fours as the world about her seemed to shift, tilt and spin. Her stomach heaved and bile burned up her throat as she forced her eyes to open.

"Lord Gavinrad?" her voice was a hoarse croak carried off on the soughing wind. The paladin reached out through the Light to warm her chilled flesh, and while it did not answer her, something else did. The reply was a sensation of cold, implacable hunger and the twisted evil that wielded it. Taliah scrambled unsteadily to her feet, her plate and chain greaves crunching in the snow as a low, wry chuckle grated from behind.

"Gavinrad?" He asked in amusement. "Not hardly…" The voice of the man who had once been Arthas Menethil was barely recognizable beneath the harsh baritone. Arthas had been a big man in life, two inches taller than Necrucian, but in the terrible black and silver plate her wore, the man who had forsworn his brothers and his country was positively colossal. In his right hand, Frostmourn smoked in the cold air, though the foul blade was carried low and lazy in his right hand.

Peacemaker cleared the scabbard at Taliah's side as fear gave her concussed brain much needed clarity and she took up an aggressive ready stance. Leading with her left foot, paladin's body was turned and offering a smaller target, her sword parallel with the ground and held near her cheek. Normally, white, heatless fire would have licked along the blade and the golden runes etched along the wide fuller would flare, but the runeblade looked nearly lifeless in her hands. She wavered on her feet, trying desperately to connect with the Light while her head felt fit to explode like an overripe melon. Again there was no answer, and the paladin gave ground as the Lich King approached. He was bare-headed, his once golden hair now as white as the snow that whipped about them on the wind. When she'd seen him at Andorhal, riding at the fore of a legion of deathknights and the mindless undead, he had still been among the living. Now, there was no question that he was as undead as his minions. Arthas had been ruggedly handsome in life; muscular, square jawed and green eyed, but what stood before her now was a travesty of what he had once been. His skin held the same greyish tone as Necrucian's and his eyes glowed blue with eldritch flame that licked from the sockets. The Lich King's heavy black cloak billowed and snapped in the wind like a torn sail, and a smirk twisted his lips as his predatory gaze took her in.

"When I last saw you, you were but a child." Arthas brought Frostmourn up and rested the flat of the blade leisurely upon his shoulder. The seemingly complacent way he wielded the weapon that had been his downfall did not seem to lessen Taliah's alarm. He knew she was terrified, hell he could smell her fear, but while her face was ashen, her grey eyes were fierce. "My, how you've _grown_…" Arthas stood just out of her range, though with his longer blade and reach, he could have easily engaged her. Instead, he just stood, tall and arrogant, and waited. "What, I don't get a 'thank you' for sparing you and Joscelin at Andorhal?" he asked, feigning affront. "That seems a bit ungrateful."

"You didn't 'spare' us." Taliah growled. Her feet were growing steadier, but the throbbing in her skull did not abate. "You couldn't _find_ us." As a young man, Arthas had always been kind to her and Taliah had looked upon his as something of an older brother. Only eight years her senior, it had been Lordaeron's prince that had taught her to ride and fight from horseback.

The Lich King waved away her words with a disdainful gesture "Foolish girl. I knew you'd retreated to the crypt after I'd taken Kel'thuzad's remains, I merely had more important things to attend to." His smirk was infuriating and Taliah found she wanted nothing more than to violently remove it from his face. "Truth be told, I only decided to give you more leash to see how far you'd run. Had I known then what I do now, I would have jerked the chain sooner."

"I didn't come here to fight." Arthas shifted his weight to one foot as though terribly bored, but his smirk did not fade. "I only wish to speak with you." He had always been able to read the girl like a book, and when the skin about her eyes tightened and creased just slightly, he knew she was both incredulous and confused. The Lich King's smirk turned into a cold, sharp grin. "I am only here at your invitation."

"Then I'd invite you to fall on your sword as well, if I thought you actually might be so obliging." The paladin spat back, her hands tightening about Peacemaker's grip. Truth be told, Taliah had no idea where she was or why she was there, but she knew in her heart that the warning from Gavinrad had been real.

"We are not so different, you and I." Arthas looked her over in a way that made her skin crawl despite the plate, mail and boiled leather she wore. "We were both always more than we seemed, held back by those who feared what we could accomplish." He took a step closer and watched the paladin tense. "I saw the look on your face as we stood outside of Stratholme. You did not feel as the others did." Taliah's mouth had long since gone dry and her cheeks burned red with cold. She could have refuted his statement, but there was little sense in lying. She'd never been much good at it. "You had seen what the Plague could do. You knew the people would suffer terribly before death finally took them." His smirk faded. "You knew the end I offered them was swifter and borne of compassion, not for the sake of murder and expedience." The muscles of her jaw twitched as her teeth clenched and he saw her throat bob in a dry swallow. "I offered my people a kinder, quicker end while Uther, Jaina and the others would have left them to linger and suffer before they died in agony. The only thing that kept you from joining me was your loyalty to the paladin you were squired to. For that, I bear you no ill will."

"And yet for all your 'mercy', you became the very thing you had sworn to defend your people against." This is not how she had envisioned meeting Arthas, and she still was not certain if this was a reality or merely a nightmare. "You betrayed the Silver Hand, killed your father and destroyed the kingdom you'd sworn to protect. Treason is punishable by death Arthas, and no one deserves the judgement of the Light more than you."

"It is I who was betrayed, paladin." The Lich King replied evenly "The Silver Hand was sworn to defend the people of Lordaeron. Yet in the darkest hour of Lordaeron's need, they walked away when their Prince needed their aid. Even while I hunted the weapon that would be Lordaeron's salvation, they endeavoured to thwart me at every turn." His posture became less relaxed and Frostmourn slowly moved from his shoulder to his side. "So tell me again, paladin. Who betrayed whom?"

"Lordaeron's _salvation_?" Taliah was incredulous and her voice rose with righteous indignation. "Arthas, you _destroyed_ your kingdom!" The Lich King wielded Frostmourn as Taliah wielded Peacemaker, as though the weapon were much lighter than it looked. He took a menacing step toward her and the paladin lunged at him with an upward sweep of her blade. His counter attack was effortless and swift, and when Taliah parried, his downward strike was like the blow of a giant hammer. The paladin braced herself as their blades locked but Arthas shoved her easily to her knees and another shove put her on the flat of her back. When he brought the hilt level with his face and gripped the terrible sword with both hands, Taliah rolled away in a clatter of armour as he thrust the blade downwards into the spot she had only seconds ago occupied. Forstmourn sank half its length into the frozen ground as easily as it would have into sand.

"How deluded you are." Arthas wrenched the blade from the ground and stalked after her. The pain in her head seemed to swell with his anger and thud in time with the heavy tread of his greaves. "Not even Uther could stop the spread of the plague. The Light had abandoned us in our hour of need, and that is when I realized that there was truly only one way to save us." He hacked at her and Taliah slid inside his guard. Peacemaker raked over his belly, but the paladin could not penetrate his armour. His smirk returned as Taliah hammered at him with the blade he had presented to her, on Varian Wrynn's behalf, for her tenth birthday. "Pain and injury have made you weak paladin, but your spirit is just as fierce as I remember." Taliah's lips pulled back in a frustrated snarl and he continued to easily counter her attacks as though she were still a green squire. "Do you think this wise girl, crossing blades with your king?"

"I will never bend the knee to you!" the paladin roared vehemently. The pain in her head throbbed in an agonizing crescendo but her anger drove her on, quickly becoming a burning wrath that only the Lich King's death would sate. Arthas revelled in her hatred and laughed as they continued their violent dance. Other than her cold, windburned cheeks, the paladin's face was nearly as white as the snow and sweat beaded her forehead. Her breaths were laboured and rose in a white vapour to freeze and dissipate in the blisteringly cold air. As Peacemaker slashed and skipped off his gorget, Arthas slapped the blade away with his gauntleted hand and brought Frostmourn to bear. Her sword gone wide, Taliah desperately tried to parry, but with a flick of his wrist, Arthas got the tip of Frostmourn into Peacemaker's winged hilt and sent the runeblade spinning off into the snow. His empty left hand shot out and caught the paladin by the throat, lifting her easily from her feet. Taliah kicked at him, her boots striking against his armoured groin and belly, but she may as well have been kicking at a cliff face. As the paladin snarled and cursed like a scruffed badger, the Lich King merely watched her struggle in amusement and silently mused how little the paladin had changed over the years. After a long moment Taliah subsided in his grasp and managed to heave in a couple of breaths before he began to tighten his grip. Arthas pulled her close, the tips of their noses almost touching and his burning blue eyes studied her in silence. He could feel the terrified pound of the pulse at her throat, even through the mail of his gauntlet and could hear the hammer of her heart through the paladin's polished steel breastplate. Her hands grasped at the vice about the pale column of her throat, but she could not pry his hand loose.

"All will kneel before the one true king." The evil that had once been Arthas Menethil told her in a whisper as his grip about her throat tightened inexorably. "Greater warriors than you have tried to defy me. All have failed. Make no mistake, Taliah…" The paladin's jaw set and her nostrils flared as her lungs pleaded for air. The smell of sweat and fear clung to her like a strong perfume and his sword arm drew her closer. Frostmourn, smoking and hungry, scraped against the armour protecting her back. Tears of pain and despair spiked Taliah's dark lashes and spilled down her cheeks, but her grey eyes still burned in frightened defiance. Arthas held her close as she finally gaped for a breath that did not come and the two combatants' breastplates grated together as his lips pressed gently to her ear. "You will bend the knee paladin, and sooner than you think. Together, we will realize your true potential paladin, and all of Azeroth shall despair." Taliah's gaze was unfocused and her face had gone red. Her hands fell from his wrist to hang limp at her sides and the paladin blinked blankly as spots erupted before her eyes from lack of oxygen. As her vision blackened, all she could wonder was why the Light seemingly chosen to abandoned her.

Despite the sumptuous feast, the fine wine and the lively music, the evening seemed to drag on forever. Varian weathered it all stoically, thanking all those who came to offer words of condolence for Taliah's condition and wishes for her swift recovery. Most had been sincere. Some had been less so. The Council had come as one to offer support and assistance, but other than Lord Mercer, the others were just going through the motions of civility. They were consummate politicians, so it took a keen eye to tell who was genuinely saddened by the paladin's comatose state and who was merely paying lip service.

The feast was well into the fifth course when Jaina finally arrived. Her cheeks were pink with windburn, but the pastel blue and gold silk brocade gown she wore belied the fact she'd returned from Southshore not three quarters of an hour before. She sat at Varian's table, two seats to his right, and raised her wineglass in silent confirmation of the mission's success. Wrynn inclined his head in thanks, though he wished Jaina could somehow speed the passage of time and free him from the party.

By the time desert had been enjoyed, the guests started to mingle and the ball began in earnest. It was at this point in the evening that Varian would have introduced Taliah, resplendent in her deep blue and silver down, to the court and claimed her as his firstborn and second in line to the throne. It would have to wait for another day, should that day come at all. He felt a gentle hand upon his arm and somehow knew it was Jaina. "Tetyana and the boy are safe, though had we delayed even a few hours.." she leaned close and whispered, telling him of the Forsaken scout and watched the subtle furrow of his brow.

"As if I don't have enough to worry about." Varian sighed, feeling old and tired. "Thank you, Jaina." When the sound of a throat being politely cleared caught his attention, the king looked up to see the Draenei ambassador standing at a polite distance. Wrynn stood and nodded, motioning for the tall, powerful male to approach. Seven feet tall, better than three hundred pounds of muscle and dressed in a well-tailored grey uniform, the hooved alien bowed graciously.

"I served with Lady Taliah at the battle of Quel'Danas, and was distressed to hear of her recent injuries." Joruil Qandro's command of the common tongue was perfect, if heavily accented, but there was no doubt as to his sincerity. He was an old warrior, his pale blue skin scared from countless battles and part of the shield-like crest upon his forehead missing. Whatever had taken the left side of his crest and also taken his left eye, though the black leather patch he wore over the old injury gave the otherwise noble looking male a rakish air. His long black hair was plaited, tied with bands of gold and hung down his back nearly to his tail. At his side stood a shapely, exotic female with bluish-pink skin and elegant, sweeping horns. The décolletage of her strapless, backless gown ended in a dagger-point just past her navel and the only thing that seemed to keep the exquisitely delicate garment in place was good intentions. Despite the hooves, horns and tail, the Draenei female was attracting more than a few appreciative and jealous glances. She looked young, but Varian had a difficult time aging Draenei. Joruil's massive arm held the woman tenderly at his side, his big hand resting at her hip. "Our prayers are with her for a complete and swift recovery." Wrynn never had to wonder if the Draenei ambassador was sincere or not. He doubted the man even possessed the capacity for deceit and silently wished his nobles were as earnest. "I would like to introduce my mate, Estania. She is only newly arrived from the Azuremyst Isles."

"Your Majesty." Standing as tall as Wrynn, the female at Joruil's side curtseyed elegantly. Her large slanted eyes were the colour of deep ocean pearls and glowed like twin stars. White as snow, her hair was loose, thick and curled into ringlets that draped down her back in a silvery cascade. "I learned the healing arts at the Prophet's knee. If I can assist in Lady Dawnstar's recovery in any way, you have but to ask." Her accent matched Joruil's, but where her mate's voice was deep and powerful, Estania's was soft and almost musical.

"I have sent the reports you provided to the Prophet your Majesty, and this morning I received his answer." Joruil told him, and while his voice wasn't loud, it seemed to carry well and Varian could tell the men of his Council were listening with half an ear. "If this Lich King is intent upon invasion, the Draenei will meet him upon the field. We will not leave our allies to face this threat alone."

"Please extend my gratitude to the Prophet, Ambassador." The Draenei may not have been numerous, but they were fierce and doughty fighters. "I look forward to standing shoulder to shoulder with the Draenei forces." From the corner of his eye, Varian saw several of the council members begin talking quietly. The dwarves, who loved fighting almost as much as they enjoyed the imbibing of things that made most people go blind, had already sent word. The forces of King Magni Bronzebeard and his Gnomish allies were ready and willing to march, and between them had offered the support of two steamtank companies with the promise of another two companie by the following spring. The Night Elves, unsurprisingly, were reluctant as of yet to publicly commit, but considering how badly they had suffered in the last great war, Wrynn hadn't expected them to jump in with both feet. He was confident that once it was clear the Lich King would not be content to stay in Northrend, the Night Elves would be ready to sail North.

With a final bow, the Draenei returned to the ballroom floor as the orchestra struck up a gentle waltz. Beside him, Jaina took Varian's hand. "I know your heart isn't in it tonight" Wrynn gave her hand a squeeze and the sorceress smiled "but would you like to dance?" He almost told her no, but instead rose and offered his arm. They had to walk around the long barrier created by the connected banquet tables to even get to the center of the cavernous room, left bare and uncluttered for the actual ball. As it was Spring, most of the women wore soft, demure colours in a riot of pastel shades. Those who were married seemed to dress a little more conservatively than those who were not. Young unmarried nobles danced beneath the watchful if discreet eyes of their parents or chaperons. Wrynn thanked the fates he wouldn't have to worry about having to do the same with Anduin for a while, considering the boy was still convinced girls might have 'cooties'.

Taliah was a completely different matter, but considering her present circumstances, the men the paladin seemed to attract were the least of his concerns for her. Jaina sensed his unease as they finally stepped out on the floor. She held his right hand in hers, her left upon the king's shoulder, while his left hand rested at the small of her back. They were careful to keep enough daylight between them to hopefully keep the rumour mongers quiet. "Taliah will pull through, Varian." She assured him. "You'll see. In a day or two she'll be her charming self."

"I hope so." They moved in time to the music and the other couples swirled about them. "Tell me of her son." The fact that he was a grandfather at thirty eight was still hard to wrap his head around.

"He's a sweet little thing, if troubled." Jaina replied. When Proudmoore had commented on the boy's looks, Necrucian had given her the details of how he'd come to be in Tetyana's care. She recounted the deathknight's tale almost verbatim and watched Wrynn's brows draw down in a scowl.

"Once this business with the Lich King is over, the Forsaken will be next." He muttered "They're growing far to bold. If Greymane would open his damn gate and look outside once in a while, Southshore would be much more secure."

Jaina didn't bother to point out that picking a fight with the Forsaken was picking a fight with the rest of the Horde as well. That would only lead to an argument she did not want to have in public. Instead, she squeezed his hand to get his attention. "Peace, my King." She said softly. "Try to enjoy the night. It may be the last night of celebration any of us see for a while."

"You're right, I'm sorry." Wrynn cleared his throat. The waltz ended and he led her back to the table. It was almost a bell past midnight and the long day was showing on both their faces. "I still have matters to attend to before morning, so I think I'll make my exit, my Lady." He bowed over Jaina's hand. "I hope the rest of your evening is pleasant." The sorceress watched him slip away amidst the bows and curtseys of the court. With a sigh, she returned to the festivities but found her heart was no longer in it either.

"Gramma?" Thomas sat on the edge of the immense bed and reached out to gingerly touch the soft peach-fuzz stubble that covered the paladin's scalp. "Where did mama's hair go?" Tetyana had debated the wisdom of allowing him to visit Taliah's bedside, but the point had become moot when she'd turned her back for the blink of an eye and the boy had managed to open the door and climb up onto the bed. She'd found him curled against the paladin's side and his arm about her.

"They had to cut it all off so they could see where Taliah's hurt was." Tetyana reached over and pulled the toddler into her lap and he fussed a little before subsiding. She kissed him on the brow and he gave a sad little sigh. "It'll grow back."

"How come she don't open her eyes?" Thomas looked up at her, not truly understanding, and it was all Tetyana could do to keep the tears at bay. When she had first set eyes upon her daughter, she hadn't even recognized her.

"She's sleeping." She told him gently "When she wakes up, she'll be very happy you're here." It was difficult to explain to a three year old why his adoptive mother would not respond when he called to her. The boy gave a mighty yawn, fighting to stay awake, but Tetyana held him and nuzzled his soft, cherub cheek. "Come love, it's time for bed. You can visit with Taliah more tomorrow." The boy protested, but only a little as she carried out into the main room. They had been ensconced with Taliah in the spacious suites that had once belonged to Varian's queen. With two bedrooms, a nursery, library, sitting room, living room and a small bathhouse, there was more than enough room. In fact, Tetyana found it huge and lonely and found herself thankful for Gretchen's company.

"He's such a dear." Gretchen's smile was a bitter-sweet as Tetyana closed the door to Taliah's bedchamber. "Such a handsome and well behaved boy." She had made sure the kitchen had sent some of the fare from the feast to the Queen's suites and the maid wiped at the table as a servant was removing trays of uneaten delicacies.

"Handsome, yes." Tetyana chuckled wryly. "Well behaved? Not so much. Turn your back for a moment and he's in to something or trying to wander off to explore. Climbing the paddock fence, unspooling my yarn, chasing the chickens… I'd forgotten how much of a handful a child his age could be." The night air was warm with just a touch of humidity from the rains that morning and the maid had opened a few windows to let in the fresh air. The Queen's chambers had not seen use since Tiffin's death and had required an army of servants to prepare for Taliah's arrival. Most of them Gretchen knew well, but there had been a few the maid hadn't recognized. She'd been so busy making sure everything was ready for Taliah's arrival, Gretchen hadn't had the opportunity to learn their names.

As the servant left with the trays and platters, Varian knocked upon the open door tentatively. Tetyana felt her heart still for a moment but looked away when she realized she was staring at the man and an awkward silence stretched between the two. Gretchen cleared her throat gently and held out her arms to Thomas as she walked by. "Come with me, my little lord, and I'll tell you a story to help you sleep." The boy looked to Tetyana with uncertainty before decided the maid probably wasn't going to bite him, and the two disappeared down the hall to the nursery. When Gretchen was gone, Varian remembered to breath again. He closed the door of the suite and tried to think of something to say.

She hadn't changed much since he'd last seen her all those years ago. Her chestnut hair was only slightly touched with grey and there were gentle lines about her mouth and eyes, but they, and her smile were as kind and gentle as he remembered. "I'm sorry to bring you here under such circumstances, Tetyana." Slowly, he crossed the room to where she stood and looked down at her. Tears spiked her lashes and brimmed her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. He reached out, tenderly wiping them away with a calloused thumb.

"I'm just thankful I can be with her, even if it's hard to see her like this." Tetyana replied. Her fingertips traced his square, clean-shaven jaw as she studied his face. Varian changed much in twenty-two years, and the weight of his crown was etched in every line and scar upon his still handsome face.

"I'm so sorry." His throat was tight, but it had little to do with the high collar of his formal attire. "For everything. You showed me nothing but kindness and unconditional love, and I repaid you betrayal." Despite their youth, he had truly loved her and had wanted to spend the rest of his days with her at his side. When they had forced to part, he had tried to move on, but his love for Tetyana had never waned. He had loved Tiffin deeply as well, and had always felt as though he had betrayed both women on some level.

Tetyana gave him a smile and cupped his cheek "You did what was right for your people, Varian. I bear you no ill will for it. I loved you… I will always love you, and I don't regret what happened between us." He had always made sure she'd been provided for, but her father, turned bitter in his forced exile, had said it guilt money to keep her quiet about the 'bastard he'd put in her belly'. Tetyana knew the truth – that the man who loved her felt a responsibility to provide for the wife and child he'd been forced to give up. "You gave me a gift greater than gold and I will always be grateful for that." Wrynn put his arms around her and Tetyana stood on her toes, meeting him halfway as he bent and kissed her. She clung to him, her tears spilling from the corners of her eyes as Varian held her against him.

The cold press of spell infused metal about her throat made her grey eyes snap open, and the feel of the frigid stone floor beneath her caused the paladin scuttle backwards a few feet until she found herself against a wall. Stripped to her smallclothes, Taliah shivered in the cold. Her wrists were shackled behind her back and a heavy chain leashed the saronite collar about Taliah's throat the throne upon which the Lich King sat. He held what looked like a crystal sphere in his right hand and glanced down at her with sadistic smile. "Do you know what this is?" he asked her nonchalantly. Taliah's expression belied the fact she couldn't have cared less, and she pulled her knees to her chest in an effort to keep warm. The quiet of the large, circular room was shattered when a sudden howl tore from her throat when, with a thought, Arthas had the collar sent a lance of wracking pain through her body. An unseen force picked her up off the floor, the chains that bound her clanked and rattled as though they were alive. They drew Taliah before Arthas and she kicked and writhed against the restraints. "I asked you a question, paladin."

Toying with Taliah's mind while she was weakened was hardly difficult, nor was making her believe she was physically within his sanctum. It was, however, very amusing. The paladin might still be far to the south, but the pain he was inflicting through the connection of the spheres was real enough. When she still refused to answer, he gave her another jolt through the collar, intense enough to make her body arch and strain, the tendons of her hands, throat and feet standing out through the skin and making her muscles jerk and flex. Another cry of torment tore its way from her throat like a clawed animal. When the pain ceased, Taliah hung limp and gasping for a moment before exploding with a feral snarl. The paladin threw her head against the pull of the chain at her collar, like an unruly colt rejecting the bridal, and she thrashed in equal amounts of fear and rage. Her snarled curses were colourful, inventive and plentiful as she insulted everything from his manhood to his parentage. When it didn't seem as though she was going to stop any time soon, Arthas silenced her with a resounding slap that rocked the woman's head back and filled her mouth with blood. He grabbed her lowed jaw before she could spit at him, and with a cold rattle of chains, dragged her into his lap. "Let this be your first lesson, Taliah." he told her, his tone still maddeningly calm. "You will be silent until I tell you to be otherwise." His grip was not gentle, and Taliah thought her jaw was going to snap. She subsided, trembling with fear and exhaustion as she was forced to straddle his cold, armoured thighs.

"Unfortunately for you, those hired to collect you on my behalf were a bit ham-handed and botched the job." He held the sphere up between them at eye level and at first the image of the pale young woman with the shorn head seemed only to confuse the paladin, until recognition finally dawned in her eyes. The mental image Taliah held of herself, which in her mind was bound with magical shackles before him, was still possessed of a full head of tussled black curls that reached her shoulders. "So instead of being here, in the flesh, enjoying my company, you lie abed while I must content myself with poking about in your mind." Arthas released her jaw and his hand trailed down her throat while the chains kept her upright. "I'm loathed to admit, but your memories are… very entertaining…"

"Get the fuck out of my head, you bastard!" Taliah growled. She bared her blood-stained teeth and Arthas slapped her again, splitting her lower lip, and blood ran freely down her chin. The paladin glared at him hatefully from beneath her brows and called to the Light once more. The only answer she got was searing, soul-rending pain, like being burned alive, courtesy of the collar. The paladin cried out and writhed against him in mindless agony.

"You'd be wise to keep a civil tongue in your head, paladin." Arthas held a mailed finger in front of her face in warning. "You can be silent of your own accord, or you can be silenced. I leave the choice to you." The blood from her chin, bright where it was smeared against her pale skin, dripped down onto his armoured thighs with an audible tapping. "The Light has abandoned you Taliah, not that it would help you in this place. The longer you refuse to accept the inevitable, the longer I will make you suffer for your arrogance."

As the cold saronite of his gauntlet brushed between her linen covered breasts, Taliah again jerked and began to fight futilely against her restraints. The tips of his fingers pressed hard into the muscle and bone of her chest as though he was about to manually extract her ribcage and the paladin's body once again arced like a bent bow. Her eyes squeezed just and Taliah's ragged cry of anguish filled the room.

The Lich King's eyes narrowed as he found what he sought, and to Taliah, it felt as though he were reaching into her body and tearing out something vital. She cried out in agony as a sliver of something glowing and white wisped slowly from her and into his hand before it squirmed through the air as though it were also in pain. It seemed drawn to the orb, but once it slipped inside, it caromed about the interior for a long moment as though in panic. "Now do you know what it is?" He asked her.

"A soul siphon…" Taliah replied with quiet despair. They were things of old, dark magic that she knew little about, but she had remembered Tirion's alarm when a pair had been found on the body of a cultist she hand Joscelin had slain. When the Light had failed to destroy the cursed spheres, Peacemaker had done the job handily enough, cleaving the foul things in two. Arthas favoured her with a smile.

"Clever girl. Each is attuned to only one person. The effect is unfortunately slow, and rather unpleasant feeling. Not the end I would have preferred for you, but it will get the job done." He looked over the pale, scared body before him and traced his fingers curiously over the ragged claw marks that while old, were still pink as though only having only healed weeks before. When she flinched away and tensed as though to begin fighting again, the collar sent punishing waves of pain from the base of her skull to the soles of her feet. To Taliah, the sensation was that of being flayed alive. She screamed through clenched teeth until her voice broke and her face went red. It was only after Taliah gave a ragged sob did Arthas relent and ceased the torment and it took a long time for the sensation to fade. The paladin gasped and panted as though she'd been held underwater and her muscles twitched and spasmed. Had it not been for the chains, she would have collapsed against his chest. "Are you quite finished?" he asked as though bored, but reached up and wiped the stream of tears from her cheeks. Arthas raised a pale brow, indicating to her he expected an answer.

After a long moment, the paladin lowered her eyes and bowed her head, too exhausted for the moment to keep fighting. "Yes." Taliah's words came out in a hoarse, whispered sob. _For now, you rotten son of a bitch..._ She thought bitterly. _Only for now…_


	13. Chapter 13

**WARNING: Chapter has sexual content (hopefully tastefully written). Sorry for the delay between 12 and 13 and the shortness of the chapters, but I'm trying to work my way through some writer's block issues.**

**Thirteen.**

The sun had not even crested the Redridge Mountains to the east, but Necrucian was already mounted and waiting for Kal just outside the gates of Stormwind. The deathknight carried nothing save the armour he wore and the greatsword named 'Redemption' upon his back while Kal's mount carried a bedroll and saddlebags of provisions. Necrucian said nothing, turning his mount down the road and leaving at a trot as Havarbrook's mount fell in beside him.

"It's three days to Westfal, and another after that before we'll reach Moonbrook." Kal had a map, but was doubtful he'd need it. They had but to follow the Trade Road east to the bridge that separated the provinces of Elwynn and Westfall, and then on to their goal.

"I'm aware." was all he got in reply and Kal decided the next four days were probably going to be some of the longest of his life. The deathknight's black, armoured destrier towered over Kal's smaller bay courser, but the gelding was game and had no problem keeping up with the stallion's longer stride. The hood of Necrucian's cloak concealed most of his face, save for his mouth and chin, but his blue eyes glowed from the depths of his cowl. The sun finally crested the eastern peaks and the clear sky glowed in shades of orange, pink and blue. There was no chill in the air, and breaking day promised to be warm and dry.

The day dragged on, as did the silence between the Captain and the deathknight and it annoyed Kal to no end. It wasn't that Necrucian was simply ignoring him. That he could have lived with, but the big man in black plate acted as though Havarbrook wasn't even there. Just before nightfall, they set up camp at the edge of a creek just off the road. While Kal's courser was sweaty and tired, neither undead man or beast seemed the least bit fatigued, and from the cold glance Necrucian gave him, it was obvious the deathknight believed Kal was just slowing him down. The deathknight disappeared into the woods while Havarbrook tended to his mount, returning with an armload of wood before pulling the saddle from his destrier.

Rifling through his saddlebags, Kal found his small kettle and a pair of cups and set about boiling some water to rehydrate a large bar of dried rations. The Captain squatted by the fire, tending to the kettle while the deathknight stood leaning against a tree and staring off into the night. "Did I wrong you in another life?" Kal couldn't take the strained silence anymore, and the tension between them was thick enough to cut with a dagger. Slowly, the deathknight's head turned and Necrucian looked down at him. The burning blue eyes shone from beneath the deathknight's cowl as he skewered Havarbrook with a cold stare, but Kal refused to be intimidated. "Where does this hatred you have for me come from?"

"If I hated you _boy_, you'd know it." The deathknight's voice was devoid of emotion, but the cerulean eyes beneath the cowl narrowed. Kal doubted there was that many years between them in age and bristled at the other man's condescending words.

"Then what the hell is your problem with me?" he asked as he stood from the fire. "What exactly did I do to earn your enmity?"

Necrucian was silent for a long moment while Havarbrook glared at him across the fire. How easy it would have been to just call upon the darkness that empowered him and throttle the irritant as he'd been forced to with Taliah when she'd drawn steel on Bolvar. The deathknight had only to look at the man to know who was better with a sword. Kal wouldn't have a prayer. "It took a Forsaken assassin to bring her down in Tarren Mill, and the anger of the sea to nearly take her life on our voyage here." Necrucian's eerie, hollow voice was low and cold "Yet the paladin is nearly killed by some lout with a sword while outside the shelter of Stormwind's walls." The frigid blue eyes narrowed into slits, hard and sharp as shards of glacial ice, and the air seemed to take on a chill despite the fire. "You were not strong enough to protect her."

"I was wounded…" Kal could almost feel the pink scar across his ribs twinge. "If it weren't for Taliah, I'd be dead." The memory of her kneeling over him, healing his wound as her own strength failed and trails of blood had slid from her nostrils and ears left the bitter taste of failure in his mouth. Havarbrook's hands curled into fists "You speak as though she were in need of protection. Taliah is a paladin, not a child."

"She is a paladin with an uncommon talent for finding or creating trouble." It was all Necrucian could do to not just reach out and twist the man's head off. In his mind, by taking her outside the safety of the city, Havarbrook had deliberately put Taliah in danger, and that was something the deathknight would not forgive. An icy smirk pulled at Necrucian's lips "You think you know the paladin, boy?" the deathknight barked a soft, short laugh. "You know nothing, Kal Havarbrook. Leave well enough alone."

Kal blinked as the realization hit him and let out a laugh of his own. "You're jealous." His tone was incredulous. Though Necrucian's gaze upon him remained steady, the deathknight did not deny the accusation. The deathknight had shown little enough emotion other than anger and contempt since they'd first laid eyes on each other. From the stories he'd heard from survivors of the fall of Lordaeron, deathknights were supposed to be little more than soulless killing machines, devoid of anything but the desire to slaughter and destroy in Arthas' name. Yet for all the grief Necrucian had given him in the last few days, Kal found he actually pitied the man and told him so. In three giant strides, the deathknight closed the distance between them so quickly that Kal didn't even have time to draw his sabre. Necrucian grabbed him by the throat, yanked the officer off his feet and pulled Kal so close they nearly could have kissed.

"Keep your pity, boy." The deathknight's eyes flared terribly bright and his anger seemed to frost the air so that Kal's strangled breaths turned to vapour in the air. "Pray that Taliah does not succumb to her wounds. For if she dies, not even the King can protect you from me." The deathknight's voice was a low growl and for the first time, Kal found himself afraid of the big man in black. He could hear the air whistle as it tried to get past the vice about his throat and his lungs screamed for air. The threat hung in the frigid air between them for what felt like an eternity and Kal began to see spot from lack of oxygen. With a last look of utter contempt, Necrucian opened his mailed fist and let Havarbrook drop to the ground. He turned away and walked off into the darkness as Kal landed on all fours, gasping for air. "Get some sleep, human. You're slowing me down enough as it is."

The yellow, orange and green canopy above them rustled gently in the breeze and the forest floor was dappled with afternoon sunlight. Silvery bark of the trees seemed like paper upon their trunks and the sweet sound of singing birds filled the air. With all the beauty around them, it was easy to forget that only four miles behind them, a savage war was raging.

Taliah held Joscelin's hand as they walked through the knee-high foliage beneath the spreading bows of the trees. The tired, dour look he had worn like a mantle back at the encampment had almost vanished, and Harkness seemed almost renewed. When a plea for aid had come from the combined force of Blood Elves and Draenei, warning that a massive demonic army held the fabled if tainted Sunwell, the Argent Dawn had answered. Lord Maxwell Tyrosus had assembled enough volunteers to form two mixed companies of archers and infantry, and given command of the force to Joscelin Harkness. Tyrosus had been reluctant to let Taliah join him, worrying that she would be a distraction within his new command, but had relented when it had become obvious that short of putting her in the stockade, there would be no separating the two paladins. At twenty-one, it was Joscelin's first command. Harkness had acquitted himself well, had made a point to learn the names of everyone in his command and had earned their respect as a man who would not ask anyone to do what he was not willing to do himself. When the butcher's bill of every engagement was tallied and he helped bury those they were lucky enough to find enough pieces to identify for a proper burial, the sense of loss was staggering. After a month of ferocious fighting, nearly half his men were dead or maimed, and while he hid it well, Taliah knew the burden of leadership weighed heavily upon him.

She looked over her shoulder and gave him a coy smile as the trees thinned and the ground beneath their feet became sandy. The warm breeze coming off the ocean smelled of salt with a hint of seaweed, a far cry from the stench of blood, torn-open bowels and scorched flesh that had filled their days and nights for weeks. Their unit had been pulled from the front lines for three days of rest, hot meals and clean bedrolls before they would have go back to sleeping in the mud and eating cold saltbeef and hardtack. She turned and grinned, kicking off her boots while she squirmed out of her breaches and tunic before dashing naked into the gentle surf, Joscelin hot on her heels. With only a day left of leave, Taliah was determined that for the next twenty-four hours, she would make Joscelin forget the last five weeks.

They cavorted in the waves like children, laughing and splashing and not caring that the camp's rearguard was probably watching. Had it not been for the sleek grey shape of a shark that came to investigate the noise in the breakers, Taliah was quite certain they would have stayed in the water until they'd both turned wrinkled and cold. They retreated from the surf, ceding the sea to the sharp-toothed predator and Taliah took Joss by the hands and led him up the beach to the treeline. While she was small and wiry, Harkness was tall and powerful. His muscles flexed and shifted beneath his tanned skin as he pulled Taliah back toward him, his arms wrapping about her somewhat possessively. Her tongue stroked over his broad chest and she could taste the ocean on his skin as she looked up at him from beneath her lashes.

Joscelin fought to temper his arousal, but when Taliah's teeth raked playfully across his chest and she grasped him with both hands to give him a gentle squeeze, Harkness couldn't have cared less if half the Burning Legion had suddenly appeared and stopped to watch. He sank to his knees, dragging her down with him and Taliah eagerly straddled his strong thighs. Joss bent his head, his lips pressing to hers and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her hands stroking through his red-gold hair as she squirmed shamelessly against the column of throbbing flesh trapped between them. His hands slid from her breasts and down her sides, stopping past the curve of her hips to grasp her rear, lifting Taliah easily. She pulled his face to her chest and Joss buried it between her breasts before his lips sought out their hardened peaks. His young lover gasped and squirmed in ecstasy and while she was distracted, Harkness began to lower her onto his lap.

There was nothing small about the man she'd pledged herself to, and Taliah bit her lip and threw back her head as Joss slowly buried himself, inch by inch, to the hilt. She was more than ready for him, but after a month in which they'd been too exhausted or busy fighting for their lives to have any time for sporting, she found their usual somewhat snug fit a little uncomfortable. Taliah could not help the throaty groan and shudder that escaped her and Joss pulled his mouth from her flesh, his blue eyes studied her face. "Are you all right?" His deep voice was husky with desire, but his concern for her comfort was genuine. In reply, Taliah pulled his face back to her breast.

"Less talk, more-" Anything she was going to say subsequently disappeared in a whimpered moan as Joss went back to his suckling. Taliah let him decide the rhythm and rocked against him eagerly. Slowly, his lips worked up her chest and branded her throat with kisses.

A few new scars had joined the others that marked her pale skin and he traced the one upon the top of her shoulder with his tongue. "We _really_ shouldn't be doing this…" Despite his words, his hips continued their slow, deep movements that made Taliah bite her lip to keep her passionate cries quiet.

"Why not?" Taliah ground her hips against him, nearly making him explode, but when his grip on her rear tightened she subsided. It wasn't often that she would give him total control during their lovemaking, but she knew he was desperate for both emotional and physical release from the stress he was under. She could think of no better way than this. "Are you afraid someone might find us?" Her lips pressed to his ear, her heated breaths caressing his skin while her tongue and teeth teased his earlobe.

Her hands alternated between gripping and stroking his sodden, shoulder length hair and Joss chuckled wryly as he gently bit and sucked at her throat. "No, I'm afraid of what Tyrosus and Fordring will do to me if I have to send you back to Light's Hope because I put a child in your belly." Taliah threw back her head and laughed, but she sank to her knees and buried him as deeply as she could take him. Joscelin's eyes widened in surprise and rolled back in his head as his teeth left marks upon her neck.

"You talk too much…" She murmured against his skin, only to suddenly gasp, eyes wide, as her body arched against Joscelin. Taliah knew he'd have liked nothing more than to send her back to Light's Hope. Despite all they'd been through, between the fall of Lordaeron, the corruption of the Scarlet Crusade and the daily struggle to survive in the Plaguelands, the fighting in Quel'Danas was some of the most brutal and horrific they had ever endured. She moaned and shuddered eagerly as he kept her body against him. His hips gave an abrupt thrust and she cried out, her short nails raking his back as she buried her face into his chest while her breathing became a steady, soft panting. He felt her quiver around him, but he was unrelenting, determined to savour every whimper, moan and squeal he could get out of her. Harkness had always been a considerate lover, and though Taliah would have been content had he merely taken her for his own pleasure that day, Joss ensured she was well sated before allowing himself release. When he gave the final deep thrust and spent himself within her, Taliah buried her face against his strong neck to stifle what would have been a loud, shuddering cry.

When she could finally found the strength to look up at him, Taliah saw not Joscelin's tanned, handsome face, but the cold grey countenance of Arthas upon his throne. The cold, carved stone of the Lich King's throne room replaced the warm sand of the Quel'Danas beach beneath her knees. Arthas lounged upon his throne, his thin bloodless lips twisted in sadistic amusement. "He would have an excellent deathknight." He reflected and studied the orb in his hand. The small glowing shard within was a quarter again as large as the day before. When Taliah got to her feet and glowered at him hatefully, the Lich King goaded her with a smirk.

"Bastard!" Taliah raged and jerked back against the collar. The eight-foot chain leashing her to the Lich King's throne snapped tight, but the paladin did not surrender. Her head throbbed mercilessly, but the pain was nothing compared to her fury and hatred for the man who tormented her. He accorded her no rest, relentlessly forcing her to show him the more compromising moments of her life; tender moments with Joscelin, especially the rare occasions she had surrendered fully to the man she had loved, or moments in battle where she had doubted herself or felt small and helpless. Her memories and emotions were laid bare before him, called forth on a whim, but with every memory he plucked from her consciousness, her rage grew, but so did her fear. When the Lich King sent a lance of searing pain through the collar, Taliah swallowed her howl of anguish, bared her teeth and fought harder. Arthas let the paladin struggle for along moment before the chain at her neck coiled about her torso to haul her into the air and draw her towards him. Taliah still refused to submit, and he intensified her agony until her body strained and her screams echoed through his halls. When tears began to roll down her cheeks in a torrent, her strength faded and her voice was nearly gone, the sensation of being pealed like an onion slowly faded.

"I'm not afraid of you!" she snarled through clenched teeth as she hung bound before him. The paladin's chest heaved and her throat burned like fire with every breath. Arthas took her chin in a cruel iron grip and looked into her eyes curiously.

"You're a poor liar, paladin." He told her matter-of-factly and gave a long, slow inhale, as though testing the air "I can smell the fear on you, girl. And yet you bring this all on yourself." Taliah tried to jerk her face away, but the Lich King's grasp upon her jaw was unrelenting. "The pain I inflict upon you is only to help you see the truth; that even here, there is no escape from your King. There is one way to end this pain… this violation…" he told her softly "Bend the knee. Accept the power I offer, and I will make you into a force of vengeance against all those who've wronged you."

"I am a paladin of the Silver Hand." Taliah's voice was a hoarse croak. "There is no vengeance, only justice." The lines between reality and the nightmare she was caught up in were beginning to blur. If this was all playing out in her head, why did she have no control? Was the Lich King's power truly so great, or was she only this powerless without the Light? The only thing she was certain of was that defeat here would be just as permanent as if she truly was chained before him. "There will be no redemption in the Light for you Arthas, and I'll be the first to piss on your ashes." The chains that held her aloft suddenly slammed Taliah to the floor and the paladin gave a grunt as the air was driven from her lungs.

"I see I have been too lenient." The Lich King rose slowly from his throne and walked around her once with slow, heavy strides before looking down upon her with irritation. With a cold rattle of chains, Arthas put the spiked toe of his boot under the paladin and flipped her onto her back. The floor was so cold, it took Taliah's breath away and as she gasped, the Lich King reached down, his frigid mailed hand covering her face. When his hand flexed, Taliah was certain he would crush her skull. "Come, girl." His growl was low and fierce "Let me show you the 'truth' of the Silver Hand and the brothers you hold in such high regard."

_The anteroom of the chapel was not large and was filled nearly to capacity with burly men. She recognized Uther and Gavinrad easily enough, and Saidan Dathrohan. The fourth, from whose point of view she was sharing as though she were walking around inside his head, had to be a younger Arthas. Gavinrad and Uther looked troubled, as did Dathrohan. _

"Should we take the risk? Perhaps it would be best to just purge the Light from her consciousness." Dathrohan ran a hand over his face wearily. The memory was over a decade old, and Saidan was still human, and not merely the meatsuit for a demon that he would later become. "Had I known her bloodline led back to the Black Priest, I would have protested young King Varian's desire to have us foster her."

"_She may be his direct descendent, but what happened in Arathor was almost two thousand years ago, and the deeds of Talos Melianir have long been forgotten by all but a few dusty historians and our own overzealous genealogist." Uther replied and his heavy brows turned downward in a scowl. "I will impress upon the man that he should forget what he has learned and swear him to silence."_

"_Perhaps Saidan is correct." Gavinrad The Dire's voice was one she knew well and Taliah felt sick to hear him agree with Dathrohan. "Perhaps there has been no trouble from the bloodline because this is the first instance of affinity for the Light since the Black Priest. It's a rare enough gift."_

"_Brothers…" it was Arthas who spoke now, and his voice was as she remembered, though it felt odd that she was seeing things as he had at the time. "Taliah is all of nine years old and has been uprooted from the only life she has ever known. She's frightened, and confused, and even now the girl is in her chambers crying and begging to be returned to her mother." Taliah remembered her journey to Stratholm from Southshore only too well; the feelings of fear, betrayal and abandonment had been so strong it had taken Gavinrad and Uther four years to convince her to write to her mother._

"_Arthas is right." Uther's tone held a finality that the other men differed to, if grudgingly. "The Dawnstar girl has great potential, but it must be developed cautiously. She is yet innocent, so purging the Light from her mind would be a blasphemy, and yet the girl must not be free to explore her potential without guidance. If Taliah starts showing signs of … differing abilities… within the Light, we will deal with it then. As of now, however, she's a frightened child who needs our protection." Uther's blue eyes shifted to Gavinrad who looked less than pleased. "Considering the trouble she gave us on the journey here, however, she will need a firm, steady hand to guide her. I can think of no one better than you, Gavin." The Dire looked less than ecstatic._

"_And if she is trained and turns against us later?" Gavinrad asked grimly "It will be my blade that is stained with the blood of Varian's child. It took the combined might of the elves and the Kingdom of Arathor to destroy the Black Priest. I will be damned before I allow her to wreak even a tenth of the destruction Melianir caused." Taliah couldn't believe what she was hearing. She had always regarded Gavinrad as a father, a protector who had cared for her wellbeing. She had never considered that he had been less her mentor and more of her keeper._

"_Then let us hope it doesn't come to that."_

Uther's words were a dismissal and the vision faded. Taliah blinked up at the ceiling as she once again saw the world within her mind through her own consciousness. It was a lie… it had to be. How could they have thought she would betray them, even before she could properly call upon the Light? Worst of all, to hear Gavinrad speak of ending her life, the man she had looked upon as a father in the absence of her own. And Uther, who had been no small object of hero worship to her, agreeing with him. Had it really been Arthas who had defended her? Had the meeting even happened?

"That is the 'truth' of the men you revere, paladin." Arthas told her as his cold hand came away from her face. "Had I not interceded on your behalf all those years ago, your abilities would never have been realized and you would have been condemned to a life of mediocrity." He knelt and looked down at her, his fierce, blazing eyes smouldering with blue fire within the sockets. Taliah's eyes squeezed shut against the intensity of his gaze and the sense of betrayal she fought to ignore.

"You're lying." The paladin told him flatly, trying to stamp out her doubts. "Nothing you say can be believed. You're a traitor, a liar and a coward and I'd spit in your face if not for the fact my mouth is dry."

"Lie to yourself if you must, paladin. It does not change what was discussed that day." He gave her a pitying look. "I will show you the truth of what you have seen, girl. Both Gavinrad and Uther are my… guests. When you come before me, you can ask them yourself." The Lich King returned to his throne, leaving Taliah on the floor to stare up at the ceiling, her heart filled with defiance, but the beginnings of doubt and despair as well.

_He's lying._ She told herself. _Lord Gavinrad was a good man. He was my mentor, my father. He showed me the importance of loyalty and discipline._ Loyalty and obedience to authority was something that came to her naturally, though discipline was something she had always struggled with. But if Arthas wasn't lying? What then?

_Please… let him be lying._


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen.**

_Just a short chapter to let anyone who still maybe be waiting that no, I'm not dead and yes, the story will continue. Sorry for the lack of updates – it took a while to figure out where this story was heading. Apologies for the wait. And for whatever reason, in my head VanCleef sounds like Crowley from 'Supernatural'._

_ ~ RT 2.0_

It swirled and dance within its spherical prison, twisting and folding in upon itself as though it were in agony. A gold so brilliant it was almost white, it struggled, but day by day the, as more of it filled the interior of the crystalline prison, the thrashing became weaker. It was tired – nearly as exhausted as the young woman who fought to recall what it was the sphere contained and why she should care. Taliah's gaze once again drifted to the floor of the chamber and the pool of congealed blood not an arm's length away. She was so very tired, both body and – _…soul. It's a soul…__**my**__ soul! _The realization struck her like a harsh slap to the face. With an explosive snarl, the paladin began to thrash and fight one more, a string of obscenities spewing forth from her cracked and bleeding lips. What had once been but a sliver of light within the prison was now filled it nearly to half. Fierce, wild grey eyes skewered the Lich King who sat upon his throne, the crystalline siphon containing her soul balanced on the tips of his fingers. For her troubles, Arthas sent a lance of agony ripping through her bound and tortured body as a sign of his displeasure and her howls of suffering echoed thought the Halls of Reflection, or would have had she actually been there. His hold upon her mind was strong and he doubted whether she could distinguish reality from the nightmare he was putting her through any more. She had her lucid moments, such as now, though they were growing shorter in length and easily sent into retreat with the application of enough torture. For eight days her mind had been his playground and it would not be long now until she finally could endure no more.

Necrucian squatted by the guttering fire to carefully feed the small branches to the flame to keep it from smoking. Beside him, Taliah slept soundly, the boy lost somewhere beneath the blankets that kept her warm. Despite the love he had torn from her that terrible day at Light's Hope, she had remained and opened the palm of her hand with his dagger, pressing the heavily bleeding wound to his injuries only to lose consciousness from blood loss. Though it was a day and a half later, she was still pale and greatly weakened by the sacrifice that saved him and while his recovery had been swift, the paladin's was not. She could have just left him, as he'd ordered her to, and taken the missives to Stormwind herself, leaving him to die in the lonely forest clearing in Hillsbrad where he now watched over her. The deathknight knew he needed her far more than she did him – without the paladin as escort, he would find no transport to Stormwind and his mission would fail. Necrucian watched her sleep, the pale brow and matted black curls all that showed above the blanket. Removing his gauntlet Necrucian reached out tentatively and gently pulled a leaf from the tangled, matted curls…

The forest clearing before him dissolved into the dark, low rolling hills of Westfall and the deathknight silent cursed himself, thankful that Kal was not there to see him in the midst of another of the waking dreams that plagued him. In disgust, he jammed a swatch of tinder into the campfire, causing sparks and smoke to lazily upwards into the clear night sky. "You'll want to be careful with fires around here, friend. Tends to attract all manner of riffraff." The calm, pleasant voice of the man behind him made the deathknight whirl and draw the immense sword from the scabbard on his back, but the visitor seemed undaunted. The stranger's head only came to Necrucian's chest in height, and he watched the deathknight with cold dark eyes despite the smile on his lips. His hair was long and dark, though whether it be black or brown, the darkness made it a mystery and by the confident way he held himself, Necrucian knew the stranger was more than competent wielding the rapier and short-sword that remained sheathed at his belt. He was clad in well used but well made boiled leather armour, the dark colouring of which had kept him concealed until he'd entered the circle of light given off by the fire.

Redemption was in his hand, but held low, the tip of the greatsword almost touching the ground. It would not take much effort to flick the blade upwards and gut this cocky visitor, but the fact he had approached at all piqued the deathknight's curiosity. Other then Kal, this was the first person he'd seen outside of Moonbrook. Little had been said between the deathknight and the horsesoldier since the unpleasantness of their first night on the road, and they spoke to each other only when necessary. They had dragged Moonbrook for days and sat at the corner table in the Black Dog tavern for so long the barkeep threatened to start charging them rent. No amount of cajoling, drink-buying, bribery or finally threats when Necrucian had had enough cat-and-mouse could persuade the denizens of the smuggler's town to talk. It was as if the man had vanished like smoke and Kal had finally decided that perhaps his enquiries might bear more fruit without the towering mountain of black plate clad deathknight scowling over his shoulder. Necrucian had watched him ride off that afternoon, half-hoping the cavalryman would not return. "And what manner of 'riffraff' would you be, _friend_?"

"The kind who knows things that might be of interest to you." The stranger approached as though he owned the place and squatted by the fire to warm his hands. Sheathing the huge sword, Necrucian could not keep away the expression of incredulous interest he wore. The man looked up at him and grinned a little. "I knew you were the reasonable sort." Though his words had a slight drawl to them, the deathknight was certain it was feigned.

"You know of this 'Stoldt' that I seek?" Necrucian's arms crossed over his chest and he stood relaxed as he looked down at his visitor. "I would be very interested in knowing where I could find him."

"I could tell you where he is, though I doubt much he'd be of much use to you." The man rubbed his hands together for warmth. "Unless you can make the dead talk." The dark hawkish eyes looked up at the deathknight without fear. "Though considering what you are, it might be possible."

"Not one of my talents, sadly." The deathknight replied coldly. He could indeed raise the dead, but they were little more than puppets under his thrall. The glowing cerulean eyes narrowed as he watched the man. "Who killed him?" There was no harm in asking, and perhaps whoever killed the man he was supposed to be looking for knew something useful.

"I did." The stranger replied as though they were merely discussing the weather. "The man had become a liability to my organisation." He shook his head, causing the long hair pulled into a tail at the nape of his neck to sway in time. "Hiring thugs to go after a paladin was poor planning. Taking a contract from a Stormwind noble was against company policy. Keeping the money earned from said contract for himself was unforgivable. When I had a little chat with him, he confessed to having been skimming off the top and using company assets for personal gain for a while now. Pity. I almost didn't dislike him." The man's shoulders shrugged "I've got no quarrel with Varian's bastard, only Varian and his Counsel."

"VanCleef." Necrucian smirked. Varian seemed to detest the man with every fibre of his being, but the deathknight had no reason to dislike him as of yet. Beyond the circle of light given off by the fire, he barely heard the rustle of many pairs of boots in the grass and raised a brow.

"And you would be Necrucian." Edwin VanCleef's predatory gaze shifted back to the fire. "Don't mind my entourage, they're just making sure we aren't disturbed." Behind the rebel leader's squatting form, a man, bound and hooded, was shoved from the darkness to nearly face-plant by the fire. From the muffled protests coming from within the rough burlap hood, the man had also been gagged for good measure. "Your friend here is lucky to still have his head. He might be dressed like a drifter, but he stinks of Stormwind nobility." The deathknight wanted to laugh as Kal Havarbrook, bound hand and foot, squirmed indignantly in the grass. He'd been so certain he could pass as something other than a nobleman's son, it was almost gratifying to see the cavalry officer proven wrong. "Consider his being alive a sign of my good faith."

"What is it you want, VanCleef?" Necrucian made no move to help Kal. That the rebel leader knew who they both were did not surprise him. A man as clever as Edwin reportedly was would have a network of spies to rival Stormwind's.

"The girl I knew nothing about until her timely fit of heroics, so obviously there are secrets even I've yet to pry out of Varian's kingdom. I do, however, know what happened way up in Light's Hope, and I know why you're here. You wouldn't have come all this way if the threat weren't real." The knowing smirk in the man's cold eyes was gone, replaced with something akin to worry.

"The threat is not just real, it is imminent." Necrucian intoned, "I feel that our time to prepare is running out, and the Nobles" the word was acid on his tongue "refused to see their peril."

"They will, though be it before or after it's too late to act is up to you." The certainty in Edwin's words gave the deathknight pause. "Whoever hired Stoldt did it through a third party and while Rorge didn't remember much of a description, the courier was wearing a ring with a Death's Head symbol and it unsettled him. Ol' Rorge was pretty specific about that while he was begging for his life."

"The Cult of the Damned…" The dead made to serve Arthas could almost be pitied in their mindlessness, but he held nothing but hatred for the living men and women who had willingly pledged their allegiance to the Lich King through his lieutenant Kel'thuzad. They carried out their king's work were the dead could not, and it was they who had brought the plague riddled grain to Andorhal for distribution through Lordaeron even before Arthas had merged with Ner'zhul. The prospect of having Cult agents in Stormwind, under his very nose, cause the deathknight's eyes to glow wrathful and bright and make the air about him cold enough that it hurt to breathe it in.

"Something is rotten in Stormwind." VanCleef replied, drawing to his full height and crossing his own arms over his chest. "And for a change it's something besides her politics. If the Cult is active in the city, the Lich King will not be far behind, but beyond a symbol on a ring, I have nothing else of value to offer. Trust me when I say my interrogation was thorough, and rather disappointingly bereft of details that would interest you beyond what I've shared." the rebel held up a casual hand, as much a sign for his men in the darkness to stay their weapons as it was for the deathknight to calm himself. "From what news I have in the last day, you will want to return to Stormwind with all due haste." Again he rubbed his hands over the fire to drive off the cold and damp of the mid-spring night. "The paladin is dying and the physician can find no reason behind her decline. For that I'm sorry. Return to Stormwind Necrucian, and take that" he pointed casually down at Kal who had grown still "with you. Do not return." As though he had somewhere else to be, VanCleef merely turned and strode off and the soft rustle of his unseen entourage faded with him.


End file.
